Post by palanfanaiel on Apr 18, 2010 6:16:59 GMT -5
[glow=red,2,300]Love Divine[/glow]
A/N: It was meant to be separate chapters but somehow I like it better as just one long story. I wanted to try something else and had the inspiration from Undisclosed Desires by Muse. The Purgatory parts is from both the present and the past, switching between the two. I tried to do a little Scottish brogue - sorry if it's totally off the chart
Enjoy.
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Hell
Trust is so easily given and yet so easily broken. The heart is so easily given and yet so easily broken. How to mend the broken shards of the soul when absolution is nowhere to be had?
Secrets. Dark, undisclosed secrets that lay hidden under layers and layers of memories past. Horrible, unspeakable secrets that threatened to spill their dark intent and possible spoil all. One never forgot those covert and hidden memories; that would be an impossible feat. The witch shifted uncomfortably in her seat as tenfold of scrutinizing and grave eyes watched her. She shuddered, and tried to breathe. All was lost now. Her road was paved with stones from hell and already she felt the hot fire licking at the farthest darkest corner of her mind. She felt the unmistakably trembling of her lips that were about to disclose everything, about to condemn her. She twisted in her seat, tried to wriggle the effects of the truth-potion out of her body and her mind. She started shaking with the combination of despair and the thought of those secrets slipping out in the open. Her control was wavering, feeble, on the brink of insanity and tears. The eyes of her watchers were relentless and hard. The tribulations of a wayward witch were rewarded with nothing but pain. No explanation for her defense would suffice. They had marked her guilty, marked her with resentment and bittersweet glee. She trembled and half-sobbed as words were forced out of her mouth, dark streams of word vomit.
"I killed him. I killed teh bastard," she stopped briefly to reign in her hot tears and continued, "I bloody killed him, alright, yeh happy naw"
She noticed the eerie silence that descended the room as the words escaped her, and the eyes watching her transformed from their bleak, blank regal light to dark shades of hatred and contempt.
The witch lifted her head and stared at the men defiantly: "I killed him with teh killing curse"
This confession drew many an intake of breaths as the eyes drew back, new regard of disdain in their depths.
"I transfigured him intae a log an' lit teh bastard on fire"
The eyes narrowed as the men silently started cursing.
The witch drew a breath, her mind reeling with the effort of trying to hold off everything, her heart thudded loudly and errantly with her failure. Still the sweet after taste of the potion lingered, bitterly reminding her.
"I killed him," she started sobbing, "I k-killed h-him". She looked up again, finding one pair of eyes filled with tears like her own. She sobbed harder as she recognized the dark look behind the forming tears in the azure orbs.
"All-... … A-albus," she wept, pleading with the cerulean eyes. They blinked once and then traces of tears were not to be found but in their stead a film of blank distrust, no mercy left for her.
The witch nearly succumbed to utterly bleakness then, nearly started howling as her heart broke, shattered in unfixable pieces. She could feel it thudding in the hollow of her chest and she could feel how the reverberations of her secrets were slowly and crucially ripping her heart to shreds. The cerulean blue eyes no longer trusted her. She had lost so much. The witch had lost her heart. She felt hollow and utterly empty. She opened her mouth once again, desperately trying to make the blue orbs understand, to make all the watching eyes understand.
"I had tae," voice hoarse and quivering on the brink of breaking, she continued, "I dinnae plan, I-I had tae – Don't yeh see!"
The eyes remained unrelenting, no trace of compassion.
"H-he was going tae k-kil me," she wept, her foundations of control long since crumpled, "It was self-defense!"
A few snorts reached her ears and through tears she saw the glints of despise in their eyes.
She tried again and locked her gaze with only the color of azure; "A-albus, please. Pl-please – he forced me tae… he forced me tae do-he was going tae kill me Al-albus!"
"GUILTY," a unified consent rang around the room, emitting from the mighty wizards. Blue eyes regarded her briefly, the gaze filled with an indifference that tore at her heart.
She sobbed her words no longer conceivable to interpret.
Words so easily spoken upon the force of magic, rotting memories so easily broken from the dark past. Hopeless actions so easily surfacing and illusions so easily broken. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
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Purgatory I - Past
The beginning of damnation, so wonderfully obscure, unravels and thus begins the journey.
The witch winced as pain erupted all over her shaking body, the epicenter her throbbing head. Reflex and instinct made her roll into a ball, and soon enough she felt the sharp wincing impressions of boots kicking her. She tried to hold her breath but before long she was howling with the pain. It ran across her skin and inside her body like wildfire, erasing any memories of not feeling so much pain. She cried her heart out, wept and begged, but when the boots stopped dark magic took over.
The witch fell into unconsciousness, a fortune on her part, and lay like death on the floor as her body shook with the concentrations of sinister magic that coursed through her. She did not hear the roaring laughter nor did she feel the edge of a sharp knife as it cut her skin open from her wrist to the nook of her elbow.
She did however slowly wake and watched silently as her wizard used her blood, stirring it into a cauldron above the heat of their fireplace. She saw the dark puffs of purple that rose as droplets of dark red blood caught the surface of the glimmering potion. The witch could not identify the specific potion but she had witnessed enough of the wizard's brewery to imagine that the contents of the cauldron would be far from good-intentional. She shivered, her mind numb and her body raw with the intense pain. It had to stop. It had to end. This was not a life worth living for.
How she managed to produce the curse or where she found her wand from, she did not know. But she smiled as the room was blinded by a green light and as she saw the wizard's slumped body fall to the floor.
And thus the witch lay, watching the crumpled form of her husband as light dawned in the outside world.
Sometime later as coldness seeped in from the cracks in windows and under the doors, the witch would lay a trunk of a large lumber across the small fire and enjoy the warmth.
Minerva sat up with a jolt, abruptly awakened from her own terror of the night. She shivered profusely despite being enveloped in her own slick sweat. Black strands of hair stuck to her neck, her face and tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. Her eyes ransacked her darkened room lividly, her breaths coming in gasps and her body shaking not only from the cold. Her own existence in the dark little room was the only sign of noise, otherwise silence prevailed. Eerie, oppressive silence. It was choking her, pressing against her throat ominously. She leapt from her cold, slightly damp bed and raced through the dark house and into the night. Sleep would not come, of that she was certain, and upon reaching her doorstep she elegantly transformed into something small and inhuman. And in this form she ran through high sleek grass, through vast, murky forests. She ran till she fell asleep from exhaustion.
She awoke several hours later as the dull morning light slowly crept forth, invading the darkness of the night. She sighed when she realized that she had once again ended up in the deep of the forest, that she had once again slept on a branch in her animagus form and that she once again would be fatigued and slightly irritated at work. A daily occurrence by now but it still bothered her. She wondered for the umpteenth time why these dark memories were haunting and prowling her nights once again. Why her worst nightmare once again had come to life to terrorize her. She just wanted a bit of normalcy, a tiny bit of redemption and salvation. She sighed once again as she worked out cramps in her stiff neck and legs and briskly started marching back to her house.
Just as the morning sun protruded in the horizon Minerva arrived at work, stepping out from a fireplace enwrapped momentarily in flames of green. She followed the stream of other wizards and witches as they strolled through the atrium of the ministry. Reaching the Department of Mysteries she stepped from the elevator into the dark hall. She sighed happily when she found herself alone in the corridor, free of all the people who had been entrapped in the elevator. She was not much for human contact so early, and felt her nervousness slowly leave her body. Her level of content rose considerably when she finally found herself in the sanctuary of her laboratory. She was almost smiling, feeling a swell of ease settle around her, but before she had taken but two steps into her haven, tranquility was broken and she felt discomfort inhabit mind and body once again.
"Miss McGonagall?" a shadow spoke.
Squinting she watched the shadow materialize into a tall ginger wizard who appeared to be looking kindly, yet curiously at her. She edged away from him, coming to stand behind the comfort of a black monstrosity of a cauldron. She eyed him with mingled interest. She seldom had visitors; people knew to leave her alone. She worked best by herself, and she knew people found her unnerving.
"Yes," she affirmed, not feeling inclined to further a conversation.
The wizard gave her a smile, whether it was sincere or mocking, she couldn't really decide. But nonetheless the ginger haired wizard smiled and spoke once again his voice seeming loud in the small dimly lit laboratory.
"Pleased to meet you," he extended long fingers and Minerva somewhat reluctantly shook his hand, not really caring for the long grasp he held her hand in. He continued, not disturbed by her loose shake, "You're just the witch I need".
He didn't elaborate and Minerva found herself opening her mouth and words slipping out before she could think. Most inconvenient on her part, she rather disliked these forced conversations where she would be forced to participate. But curiosity had a stronger hold on her, and thus she found herself in her first human-to-human conversation in months.
"Naw, why would tha be, Mr…-?" she stopped and gave the wizard an inquiring look. She found it rather rude for him to know her name but that she had no clue who he was. Common conversation courtesy dictated introduction from her point of view.
The wizard's smile deepened and to her displeasure she found the corners of her mouth lift upwards of their own accord. She quickly covered it with a frown, narrowing her eyes as she took in the form of the wizard. He was tall in an imposing way, his figure lean in long, shape fitting robes of a dark blue. A little on the gangly side, she determined. She looked up and caught his eyes calmly watching her from behind glasses. She quickly averted her gaze and tried to quell her blush. He had caught her looking.
"Dumbledore," he introduced himself, "Albus Dumbledore".
The name seemed vaguely familiar to her but she could not pinpoint the origin.
She looked up; "An' what business do yeh have with me, Mr. Dumbledore". She found herself once again caught looking at him. This time she kept her gaze locked with his defiantly and waited for his response.
"Advice, Miss. I am in dire need of potion advice, of a more potent nature. I asked around and your name came up the most frequently."
Her first thought was to dismiss him immediately; she had lost enough time as it was. She was supposed to be brewing up concoctions, not chit-chatting with strangers lurking in her laboratory. But somehow, not voluntarily, a single word escaped her lips.
"Oh," and to her own astonishment she welcomed the wizard to sit down, the table and cauldron between them. She silently directed her magic at various lamps around the room, and they were suddenly bathed in the fluorescence of lights. With the bright illumination she found she was once again looking at the wizard. Her gaze landed upon his face. His nose, she decided, was too crocked for her liking and with the light small wrinkles had appeared around his face. But his smile seemed genuine to her, maybe that was why she hadn't thrown him out yet.
"So what kind of information are yeh looking for, Mr. Dumbledore?"
"Albus," the wizard replied good-naturedly.
"Excuse me,"
"You are more than welcome to call me Albus," he responded. Minerva idly wondered if this meant she had to invite him to call her by her first name as well. It would be the polite thing to do.
"Okay, Albus, what is it that I can help yeh with?"
And finally he started explaining and Minerva found her curiosity had just been a slight, little ember. As he continued to talk, her curiosity and interest only increased. At the end of his story, Minerva found herself agreeing to help him with his project and once again shaking his large hand.
Hours later, back in her solitary serene house and in the presence of silence, she closed her eyes as she relaxed against the back of her sofa, her living room dimly lit by candle light. And instantly the image of the ginger-haired wizard crept into her mind. She abruptly opened her eyes, annoyed at the intrusion. In an attempt to rid her mind of thoughts, she leapt up and walked into her bathroom. A shower would bring her peace she was certain.
And thus two souls interweaved.
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Purgatory II - Present
The circle of hell so desolate with coldness. The empty human so devoid of warmth.
Guilty, the wizard screamed at her. The witch shrank, her tears streaming heavily down her cheeks. Guilty another wizard screamed. She watched as the dark shadows of wizards enclosed her in a circle, their eyes directing the verdict with hatred and contempt. The witch tried to run but she was trapped in this dark room, with these people who hated her, who condemned her. She looked up and caught his empty gaze and she flinched. The gaze of cerulean looked upon her with such an indifference, such a coldness. She called out to him, but he was gone. She was alone suddenly in the dark, cold room. She wept.
Minerva bolted from her bed, half crying and half hyperventilating as she stormed from her bed, away from her vivid nightmares. Her legs carried her outside, a path she had taken many dark nights and she quickly turned into her animagus form as she leapt towards the dark outline of the forest a couple of hundred yards from her house. Her nights had once again been stalked by horrid dreams, ever since her trial. Ever since her life had come tumbling down with the dark secrets she's been forced to reveal. Despite a ruling of self-defense in the end she had been branded, marked with an invisible judgment of murder. Her body itched, her mind reeled. And she would run every night, try to outrun the dark mark of murderess and his look of coldness. And she never quite succeeded. She might be free on paper but prejudice and her peers had her locked tightly in her own imprisonment.
Numbly she remembered the first day, how she had swiftly run across the lawns, the imminent castle just in her sight. How she had despairingly climbed all the stairs to his office. How she had knocked, tears already forming in her eyes. The dark forest swept past her as she remembered when no answer came from beyond the door. She remembered emptiness settling into her body.
Minerva ran half-blind, trying to outrun her despair and emptiness. Sometime just as dawn was breaking she ended up in the wet grass, looking up at the still dark sky. Her lungs could no longer continue the crying and the screaming, so it left her with staring blindly at nothing.
Her heart was so cold, so cold. Sometimes she wished for death, other times for revenge and in between in the darkest, deepest pit of her dead heart she wished for the warmth of an embrace, the twinkling of cerulean blue eyes accompanied by sweet tinkling laughter. These dark, deep hidden desires were immediately squashed and she quickly transformed them into hatred and despair. It simmered so warmly and kept her from falling deeper into the grip of insanity.
She remembered how the wizengamot had coldly told her she would be free to go and how she'd imagined they were throwing her in Azkaban. How she had been too relieved at first to notice the lack of warmth in the depths of their eyes.
Her heart was cold and forgiveness was not a concept she was familiar with anymore.
Abandonment is a colorful chameleon and in the dead of night as rage entraps tendrils of the rising cold, abuse of trust comes first to mind.
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Purgatory III - Past
The sweet flight to heaven is tainted with the sour betrayal of memories.
Minerva leaned forward over the cauldron watching as the simmering potion turned a dark shade of orange upon her stirring. The luscious smell of ripe fruit assaulted her nose then and she inhaled with a delighted heart.
To her left being ignored rather crudely, sat Albus Dumbledore on a chair trying his best to contain his laughter upon the sight of the elated witch. He had entirely forgotten the purpose of his visit, and that he had yet to be actually greeted by said witch. The witch seemed so enamored by her potion-making and he could hardly disrupt her obviously elated moment with impatience on his part. He watched her movements as she quickly sliced a dark root and slipped the small fine clumps into the cauldron. He watched with amazement as smoke billowed out, the tendrils of the fiery flames forming images of shimmering dragon flies.
He was surprised when he was suddenly looked upon, two glowing dark eyes regarding him for the first time since he had entered the laboratory. Her whole persona transformed then and instead of delight he was met with a frown. Albus took no notice though; he had become rather accustomed to the witch and the scowls upon which she deemed it necessary to greet him with. It rather amused him.
"So," Minerva ineloquently started, her arms crossed as she took a few steps back to stand behind her cauldron. Albus tried to contain his bemusement at her few words; an occurrence he had come to recognize as a delightful appearance. In the many first meetings he had been slightly annoyed at the sparse contribution to a conversation on her part, but slowly he had found this quirky trait enchanting in its own right.
"Well, my dear potionsmistress, I have run into a elixir predicament and am at a loss what to do," he replied watching as she raised an eyebrow at him. He waited for her reply a few seconds before he realized she was not going to speak, so he continued, "If an ingredient of a – a magically origin were to be shredded to powder before adding it to a potion but this would be an impossible undertaking, what would you recommend? "
She gave him another of her looks, "What have yeh replaced the powder with insofar?"
Albus gave a short snort of laughter. He wondered how she'd known.
"Well," he started, "I tried to thicken the ingredient into a paste instead but -"
"Hmmf, have yeh nevae read the Magical Splitting of Elements" Minerva interrupted him as she walked away from the cauldron and strode to the back of her laboratory. When she came back, a large dark book was in her arms and she continued while she gave him a reproachful look, "The essence of powder is not the same as tha of paste, it's a classic notion people seem tae believe in but the difference is vast."
Contrary to her before mentioned few words once the topic turned in the direction of potion-brewing, the vocabulary of their conversation rose considerably.
"I seem to remember skimming said book a few decades ago," Albus retorted as he gave the witch a wide smile. It was on rare occasions that Minerva would indeed smile back at him but she surprised him as she gave a short laughter followed by a look in the depths of her dark eyes so reminiscent of mirth, that Albus was momentarily shocked. He was further flustered as Minerva half-threw, half-gave him the dark book and while he fumbled with it she returned once again to her potion that had started boiling.
"I recommend reading the paragraphs on molecular structure when pertaining to teh magical elements", she said over her shoulder, stirring counter-clockwise. Albus was just about to open his mouth when he was once again interrupted by the witch, "What ingredient is it that you're trying to powderise again?," she stopped briefly, her lips curling slightly upwards and her eyes darkening as she continued, "I've heard tha some explosions should do wonders in regards tae making powder".
Albus laughed and inwardly felt warmth spread when he realized this was the first joking comment Minerva had made since he had first met her.
"I've heard similar rumors and I must admit much against my better judgment, that I've indeed concocted such experiments," he stopped and gave her a shrewdly grin which turned mischievously crocked when he added, "unsuccessfully"
Minerva stirred her potion once again, clockwise this time and Albus watched as she tried to hide a delightful grin as she bent her head. She mumbled something that sounded extraordinarily like 'who hasn't' but Albus wasn't sure.
Albus watched as she doused the flames underneath the cauldron until only the small sparks of embers were glowing and then she went in to the back of her laboratory again. When she emerged she was carrying a basket full of vials.
"It must be some variant of fluid, maybe with more than one magical core," she stated then and Albus found himself bewildered at first but then realized she was talking about the powder.
"Yes," he affirmed her hypothesis and elaborated, "it's blood from a -"
Minerva interrupted him for the third time but it was a very different disruption. Her eyes had darkened, not from amusement, and her whole stance transformed into a mask of slightly contained disdain and what surprised him the most, was the narrowing of her eyes as she looked at him with thinly veiled surfacing anger.
"Blood," she coldly snapped, "is a most potent part of dark magic, Mr. Dumbledore and usually the first tell-tale sign of dark intents". She was once again hiding behind her cauldron, her hands slightly trembling. The previous casual warmth of the room had been replaced with a sudden coldness that sent shivers down his spine.
"Miss McGonagall," he started his voice somber as he tried to explain the situation, "I can assure you that I have no dark intentions in regards to the means of blood in my work. I've been researching the uses of dragon blood for quite some time now and while I have discovered many interesting aspects of this ingredient in potion-making, I'm still not quite satisfied. So I have been tinkering with the idea of using the dragon blood in the guise of powder instead of in its pure form."
"Oh" Minerva responded, her anger dissipating and a sudden blank expression in her eyes. Silence descended upon the room and Albus felt a nervousness settling in his stomach as he tried to come up with something further to say, to somehow renovate the comfortable atmosphere that had resided in the room before any mention of blood.
Minerva was pouring the dark orange liquid into her vials. Just when he thought the atmosphere was shattered beyond repair, Minerva spoke, her voice quiet; "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions, Mr. Dumbledore"
"Albus," he corrected and gave her a smile when she looked up from her work.
"Albus," she granted him, a smile slowly taking form.
And thus a flicker of light leapt through darkness, its path destined for the beginnings of familiarity.
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Purgatory IV - Present
The companionable embrace of loneliness holds no warmth, and in that void comes the hunt for a little flame.
Two weeks of nothing, and Minerva felt she was beyond the grasp of insanity and had moved into an altogether worse category, an unnamed feeling of being swathed in something worse. She longed for company, longed for just a little bit of compassion. She had tried to go among the throngs of people as they were hurrying by in Diagon Alley, walked among the crowds of happy, excited wizards and witches of various ages but it had been a nightmare in itself. She had felt the snare of paranoia settling in, felt the swarm of people constricting and entrapping her. She had felt their eyes upon her, their quiet discomfort and contempt. It was ludicrous for she knew that her crime had only been disclosed to a small amount in the wizengamot, not even the entire assembly of redeemed wizards and witches had been present. But nonetheless, it had felt as if the entire population of wizardry knew, and were silently condemning her. She had felt so awkward that she's barely made it to Flourish and Botts before she had escaped back to her lonely, solitary house.
A few days after she had tried Hogsmeade but that had turned out to be just as disastrous. She had been too concerned with the likely prospect of running into him that she'd been trembling and shivering so badly that people indeed had started looking at her. She had apparated so quickly back to her cottage that she's been surprised she had not splinched.
And yesterday she had gone to a muggle town, certain that it would turn out much better than the other places. But she had been mistaken, once again. But out of despair and a burning anger at herself, she had forced herself to stay and do her shopping. She had arrived at her doorstep soaked in her own sweat, her breath coming in short gasps and tears beginning to form.
So today she had settled for absolutely nothing and was as such sitting in her garden, soft cold grass keeping her company along with the forming clouds above her. As she lay, her mind wandered and came upon the memory of happier days. The vivid image of him was immensely painful as remembrance of twinkling eyes and tender caresses played in her mind. And that was how she spent her day, wallowing in her grief and anger. The two was so intricately entwined that at times they were hard to distinguish from each other. One moment she would contemplate writing him a letter explaining and imploring understanding but then she would swiftly consider magically wiping him from her mind and memories or she would imagine his face when she hexed him. Why was he avoiding her? Why had he not contacted her?
She tried to even her breathing but soon tears fell and she inhaled sharply at the pain constricting in her chest. And just as she thought she would go mad, descend into further darkness, a bright shadow flew across her vision and she watched with shock and surprise as Fawkes landed next to her. The bird watched her curiously as she hiccoughed and tried to get her emotions under control. Her fingers trembled as she lightly stroked the dazzling neck of the phoenix.
"Fawkes," she managed to stutter and continued to caress the bird, feeling the soft feathers beneath her fingers.
"What are yeh doing here?" she continued even though she was aware that the phoenix would not be able to answer her. "I highly doubt yeh wizard sent yeh, huh".
Fawkes just gave her another bird look, a few thrilling notes escaping him. She gave a half laugh and nearly started crying again but she managed to reign in her emotions.
"My life's a real mess Fawkes," she told the bird feeling strangely comfortable and continued, "an awful mess… what am I tae do huh?"
The phoenix nudged her arm with his beak as an answer and Minerva felt a small bubble of laughter surface.
"Well Fawkes, yeh're all I got."
Just then the somewhat tranquil atmosphere that had settled between her and the phoenix and the peace that had finally emerged in her mind came to an abrupt end with the loud sound of someone apparating.
Minerva looked up and to her horror Albus Dumbledore stood on her lawn only a few meters away from her.
"Yeh!" she half stuttered, half cursed, feeling an intense anger building up inside her as she stared at the wizard in front of her, "Yeh have no business here," she told him brusquely.
"Perhaps not," he said in a quiet voice as if he was uncertain as to what it was he was doing here.
"Then I beg you tae leave," she pointed to the north, standing firmly in her spot trying not to break out crying.
"Can we talk?"
"No – I have no desire tae talk to yeh"
"Can I talk?" he continued unabated.
"Mr. Dumbledore please" her voice was tinged with exasperation.
"It's a story"
"I'm hardly in a mood for a fairy tale"
"Once upon a time there was this wizard," he started nonetheless his blue eyes staring softly at her, somehow no longer swathed in indifference.
She sighed but nonetheless kept quiet.
"This wizard was regarded as powerful and wise beyond means and everyone would thread lightly around him, revere him and look up to him. He was put on a pedestal" His voice had taken on a somber note and Minerva felt something else besides anger but she quelled it.
"I would love tae shove a stick up yehs truly," she commented instead keeping her walls up, feeling the need to insult the wizard.
He briefly gave her a pointed look but then continued, "But the wizard was just like everybody else – and one day he made the gravest mistakes of them all." He looked at her then, his eyes seeking her out, "He betrayed a friend."
And there they stood, silently regarding each other.
"Once upon a time there was a witch," she broke the silence, "a witch whom experience had taught her not tae trust easily. Once fine day a wizard came by and she slowly started tae trust again. Everything was fine until one day when teh wizard betrayed tha trust." She stopped for a short breath, "Do yeh know what happened tae her?"
"No" he spoke his voice breaking, his finger shaking.
"She learned her lesson – trust is good for nothing but pain"
"Minerva," he rasped, "I am so sorry – I wish-"
"I wish yeh would leave me alone, Albus"
"I cannot do that,"
"Sure, turn around and apparate back tae whence yeh came"
"I am sorry I hurt you – I'm sorry I broke your trust. But most importantly, Minerva, I am most sorry I was not there for you. I am sorry I left my more ugly emotions rule my actions. I was shocked, I was- "
"Yeh were disgusted."
"No"
"Yes yeh were – I saw yeh eyes Albus – they were disgusted."
"Shocked, sad and slightly angry – but never disgusted"
She laughed darkly, "Angry! Yeh were angry!"
"I felt slightly betrayed"
"Yeh felt betrayed!"
"Yes – I thought I had your confidence and then all of a sudden, you're someone else with secrets. I know ridiculous of me, vain actually but that was how I felt initially."
She laughed bitterly then, and he joined her a few moments later.
"Yeh are something, yeh know tha! I think all this greatest and powerful wizard of the century has gone tae yeh head!"
"I am afraid you are right. I'm quite the megalomaniac," his voice had turned from solemn to amusement and it was contagious despite her pain.
"I guess we could talk a bit" she resigned, already feeling a slight tendril of release bubble up from where she'd repressed it to. The wizard on the other hand broke out in a smile and in a swift move took hold of her elbow and started guiding her in the direction of her house.
"Splendid"
And thus they met once again, two souls wrapped in a precariously thin film of hope.
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Purgatory V - Past
Blessed be the first signs of love
Albus looked at the fidgeting witch in front of him and mentally added another adorable trait to the list of things said witch had a habit of doing. He had finally succeeding in inviting her to Hogwarts and she was presently sitting on his couch in a ramrod straight stance, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her sleeves. And when she caught him looking her dark eyes would scowl and tell him in a no nonsense look 'that he better stop acting the dunderhead if she was forced to be in his company'. He only laughed and continued to stare which only exaggerated her scowls. In the end she turned her chin up and decided to stare back haughtily at him.
"You know – I think your nose is a bit too pointy," he told her and he watched as her eyes narrowed, her lips forming a straight line.
"Yeh are hardly one tae talk about flawed noses, Headmaster" she told him in a tight voice but he noticed the tiny spark of delight in her dark eyes.
"Hmm, well, you are entirely too pale" he told her then, scooting closer on the couch.
"And yeh look like death warmed over," she retaliated while scooting closer to the arm of the couch, her eyes appearing frightened for a slight moment before they took on the characteristic look of annoyance.
"And worst of all; you are too tall," he spoke in a near whisper, leaning in to gently bestow a soft kiss upon her lips. When he leaned back he met the gaze of surprise upon her face. He laughed merrily – it was seldom he could surprise the dear potions mistress.
"- yeh-yeh are- tall –too-" she stuttered.
"Exactly my dear – we fit perfectly."
And from that moment she relaxed back into the couch and her dark eyes regarded him mirthfully.
"Yeh are impossible," she told him.
"I should hope not," he replied and for the first time he heard a giggle escape her lips and he felt a wonderful delight at hearing her amusement.
"How is the Ministry faring these days?" he asked her.
"Same auld, same auld – the ministry still employ fools who think tha elixirs are no good except for curing headaches."
"You poor one"
"I know. Just teh other day, teh Minister for Magical Law asked me whether it was okay tae mix asphodel with an antidote for burn wounds!"
Albus laughed upon seeing the exasperated look in her dark eyes.
"She thought asphodel would only strengthen teh potency of teh potion!"
"What horrendous lecture did you give her?" Albus shook his head but was much more interested in curling a strand of black hair around his finger than actually listening to the story. Minerva seemed distracted for a brief moment as she leaned closer, her eyes glowing with mischief.
"She was clearly lacking any competency in potions-brewing, so naturally I told her tae take a seat and start slicing teh caterpillars!" she told him in an amused voice as she snatched her hair from his fingers, poking him in the chest as a warning. Albus looked up and caught her emerald gaze. They were mere inches apart and he could see the golden flecks in her iris and the small few freckles that adorned her nose.
"How long have you've been teaching our dear Minister for Magical Law?" he asked as he arched an eyebrow. He had never known anyone taking lack of knowledge as a personal insult, but Minerva did. He remembered the many first encounters he'd had with the dark-haired witch and had he been lesser of a wizard he would have been intimidated. In honesty, he berated himself then, he had been slightly intimidated. But he had been more intrigued than intimidated him, he realized.
"A week tomorrow – Hilda is making progress," she replied in a dry voice, her eyes however sparkling with enjoyment.
"Poor Minister!" Albus exclaimed, secretly glad he was not the apprentice in Minerva' laboratory. He had never possessed a hand for perfection when it came to potions. Oh he possessed the initiative and creative thinking that went along with experimenting but actually doing the meticulous work was beyond him. He always ended up with slicing his own fingers off or somehow burning the whole mess to cinders. Minerva demanded perfection when it came to brewing, and he was sure Hilda would never again think about mixing ingredients again.
Minerva laughed again, a wonderful sound that resounded through the room and left Albus with a feeling of joy. He slowly caressed her cheek and watched tenderly as she blushed scarlet. To his surprise she did not move however, her eyes locked with his and her beautiful lips graced with a genuine smile.
"And yeh?" she asked and despite the few words Albus understood the question.
"Wonderful," he replied while threading a hand through her dark hair, "Why just yesterday the whole class of first-years managed to turn needles into a matchsticks."
"Wauw," she commented in mock-wonder. He only laughed and continued:
"I've had so much free time on my hands actually that I finished my paper," he told her on a more serious note, noticing the immediate interest in her eyes.
"Tha's wonderful," she told him.
"Yes – I do believe the use of powdered dragon blood in Everlasting Elixir will indeed make a breakthrough! At the very least it will certainly earn a few howlers from the old conventionally masters," he added.
"I know at least five masters who will not hesitate tae put some nasty hex with those howlers," she told him with a smile.
"Wonderful," he replied sarcastically but continued in a much more cheery voice, "good thing I accredited you in the foreword. We can share the pain then." She looked at him in surprise, her mouth slightly parted and her green eyes suddenly dark with disbelief mingled with frustration.
"Please tell me it's a bad joke," she said in a low voice, her eyes turning unreadable.
"I'm afraid I cannot. You will most likely be the recipient of angry howlers as well," he laughed merrily as the surprise turned to a dark pout on her face.
She punched him gently,
"Yeh rascal!"
They looked at each other for a moment before they both broke out in laughter.
Sometimes old wounds do heal in the presence of warmth.
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Paradise
The complex, dark design of the heart so easily kindled with fire. The intricate, dangerous existence of love so easily conquered by the gentle soul.
Secrets. Dark, disclosed secrets that had been hidden under layers and layers of memories past. Horrible, unspeakable secrets that'd threatened to spill their dark intent and possible spoil all. One never forgot those covert and hidden memories; that would be an impossible feat. The witch shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she watched the blue tender gaze of the wizard opposite her. She shuddered but immediately felt a comforting hand rest upon her arm, an encouraging thumb stroking her skin. The witch opened her mouth and tentatively she heard a few words escape, the remembrance of the dark past rearing its ugly head. The witch continued the story however, trying to block out the emotions. Her voice was motionless and small but still the words continued. It quite surprised her but when she first got going, the words flew from her mouth like a cascade of water, tumbling out of her quite voluntarily. Every now and then she looked up and caught the wizard's eyes, half expecting him to be disgusted. But every time her eyes locked with a steady gaze, the depths held nothing but tenderness. The blue orbs fascinated her, the swirling mass of color revealing a visage of things the witch had kept under lock and key. They were not their usual twinkling blue but a bright cerulean, specs of dark blue interweaved in with the vivid azure, emotions enriching them with a small sparkle. The witch felt herself fall into the gaze, drowning in the ocean of the deep blue sea and calmness settled into her. A serenity she'd forgotten existed. It felt wondrous and tranquil. The witch crawled from her hole of darkness, emerging into the light and warmth, feeling the last tendrils of coldness seeping from her. She felt lighter and warmer than she remembered was possible. No longer did she feel weighed down or wrapped in dark, menacing horror. She no longer felt wrong and sinful. And this new metamorphism settled into the very soul of the witch, ablaze with life and fire.
When night fell and shadows began to play, she calmly watched the sleeping wizard beside her fascinated by the rise and fall of his chest. She slowly traced a finger along his jaw, mesmerized and bursting with an overwhelming sense of belonging.
The witch had found her heart and home. She would forever float in the ocean of blue, swim the tides of cerulean and dive into the deep dark.
Two souls intertwined, soaring high.
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The reason MM isn't currently the potions-mistress at Hogwarts you ask! The position was already filled back in 1956!
//Pal
A/N: It was meant to be separate chapters but somehow I like it better as just one long story. I wanted to try something else and had the inspiration from Undisclosed Desires by Muse. The Purgatory parts is from both the present and the past, switching between the two. I tried to do a little Scottish brogue - sorry if it's totally off the chart
Enjoy.____________________________________________________
Hell
Trust is so easily given and yet so easily broken. The heart is so easily given and yet so easily broken. How to mend the broken shards of the soul when absolution is nowhere to be had?
Secrets. Dark, undisclosed secrets that lay hidden under layers and layers of memories past. Horrible, unspeakable secrets that threatened to spill their dark intent and possible spoil all. One never forgot those covert and hidden memories; that would be an impossible feat. The witch shifted uncomfortably in her seat as tenfold of scrutinizing and grave eyes watched her. She shuddered, and tried to breathe. All was lost now. Her road was paved with stones from hell and already she felt the hot fire licking at the farthest darkest corner of her mind. She felt the unmistakably trembling of her lips that were about to disclose everything, about to condemn her. She twisted in her seat, tried to wriggle the effects of the truth-potion out of her body and her mind. She started shaking with the combination of despair and the thought of those secrets slipping out in the open. Her control was wavering, feeble, on the brink of insanity and tears. The eyes of her watchers were relentless and hard. The tribulations of a wayward witch were rewarded with nothing but pain. No explanation for her defense would suffice. They had marked her guilty, marked her with resentment and bittersweet glee. She trembled and half-sobbed as words were forced out of her mouth, dark streams of word vomit.
"I killed him. I killed teh bastard," she stopped briefly to reign in her hot tears and continued, "I bloody killed him, alright, yeh happy naw"
She noticed the eerie silence that descended the room as the words escaped her, and the eyes watching her transformed from their bleak, blank regal light to dark shades of hatred and contempt.
The witch lifted her head and stared at the men defiantly: "I killed him with teh killing curse"
This confession drew many an intake of breaths as the eyes drew back, new regard of disdain in their depths.
"I transfigured him intae a log an' lit teh bastard on fire"
The eyes narrowed as the men silently started cursing.
The witch drew a breath, her mind reeling with the effort of trying to hold off everything, her heart thudded loudly and errantly with her failure. Still the sweet after taste of the potion lingered, bitterly reminding her.
"I killed him," she started sobbing, "I k-killed h-him". She looked up again, finding one pair of eyes filled with tears like her own. She sobbed harder as she recognized the dark look behind the forming tears in the azure orbs.
"All-... … A-albus," she wept, pleading with the cerulean eyes. They blinked once and then traces of tears were not to be found but in their stead a film of blank distrust, no mercy left for her.
The witch nearly succumbed to utterly bleakness then, nearly started howling as her heart broke, shattered in unfixable pieces. She could feel it thudding in the hollow of her chest and she could feel how the reverberations of her secrets were slowly and crucially ripping her heart to shreds. The cerulean blue eyes no longer trusted her. She had lost so much. The witch had lost her heart. She felt hollow and utterly empty. She opened her mouth once again, desperately trying to make the blue orbs understand, to make all the watching eyes understand.
"I had tae," voice hoarse and quivering on the brink of breaking, she continued, "I dinnae plan, I-I had tae – Don't yeh see!"
The eyes remained unrelenting, no trace of compassion.
"H-he was going tae k-kil me," she wept, her foundations of control long since crumpled, "It was self-defense!"
A few snorts reached her ears and through tears she saw the glints of despise in their eyes.
She tried again and locked her gaze with only the color of azure; "A-albus, please. Pl-please – he forced me tae… he forced me tae do-he was going tae kill me Al-albus!"
"GUILTY," a unified consent rang around the room, emitting from the mighty wizards. Blue eyes regarded her briefly, the gaze filled with an indifference that tore at her heart.
She sobbed her words no longer conceivable to interpret.
Words so easily spoken upon the force of magic, rotting memories so easily broken from the dark past. Hopeless actions so easily surfacing and illusions so easily broken. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
____________________________________________________
Purgatory I - Past
The beginning of damnation, so wonderfully obscure, unravels and thus begins the journey.
The witch winced as pain erupted all over her shaking body, the epicenter her throbbing head. Reflex and instinct made her roll into a ball, and soon enough she felt the sharp wincing impressions of boots kicking her. She tried to hold her breath but before long she was howling with the pain. It ran across her skin and inside her body like wildfire, erasing any memories of not feeling so much pain. She cried her heart out, wept and begged, but when the boots stopped dark magic took over.
The witch fell into unconsciousness, a fortune on her part, and lay like death on the floor as her body shook with the concentrations of sinister magic that coursed through her. She did not hear the roaring laughter nor did she feel the edge of a sharp knife as it cut her skin open from her wrist to the nook of her elbow.
She did however slowly wake and watched silently as her wizard used her blood, stirring it into a cauldron above the heat of their fireplace. She saw the dark puffs of purple that rose as droplets of dark red blood caught the surface of the glimmering potion. The witch could not identify the specific potion but she had witnessed enough of the wizard's brewery to imagine that the contents of the cauldron would be far from good-intentional. She shivered, her mind numb and her body raw with the intense pain. It had to stop. It had to end. This was not a life worth living for.
How she managed to produce the curse or where she found her wand from, she did not know. But she smiled as the room was blinded by a green light and as she saw the wizard's slumped body fall to the floor.
And thus the witch lay, watching the crumpled form of her husband as light dawned in the outside world.
Sometime later as coldness seeped in from the cracks in windows and under the doors, the witch would lay a trunk of a large lumber across the small fire and enjoy the warmth.
Minerva sat up with a jolt, abruptly awakened from her own terror of the night. She shivered profusely despite being enveloped in her own slick sweat. Black strands of hair stuck to her neck, her face and tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. Her eyes ransacked her darkened room lividly, her breaths coming in gasps and her body shaking not only from the cold. Her own existence in the dark little room was the only sign of noise, otherwise silence prevailed. Eerie, oppressive silence. It was choking her, pressing against her throat ominously. She leapt from her cold, slightly damp bed and raced through the dark house and into the night. Sleep would not come, of that she was certain, and upon reaching her doorstep she elegantly transformed into something small and inhuman. And in this form she ran through high sleek grass, through vast, murky forests. She ran till she fell asleep from exhaustion.
She awoke several hours later as the dull morning light slowly crept forth, invading the darkness of the night. She sighed when she realized that she had once again ended up in the deep of the forest, that she had once again slept on a branch in her animagus form and that she once again would be fatigued and slightly irritated at work. A daily occurrence by now but it still bothered her. She wondered for the umpteenth time why these dark memories were haunting and prowling her nights once again. Why her worst nightmare once again had come to life to terrorize her. She just wanted a bit of normalcy, a tiny bit of redemption and salvation. She sighed once again as she worked out cramps in her stiff neck and legs and briskly started marching back to her house.
Just as the morning sun protruded in the horizon Minerva arrived at work, stepping out from a fireplace enwrapped momentarily in flames of green. She followed the stream of other wizards and witches as they strolled through the atrium of the ministry. Reaching the Department of Mysteries she stepped from the elevator into the dark hall. She sighed happily when she found herself alone in the corridor, free of all the people who had been entrapped in the elevator. She was not much for human contact so early, and felt her nervousness slowly leave her body. Her level of content rose considerably when she finally found herself in the sanctuary of her laboratory. She was almost smiling, feeling a swell of ease settle around her, but before she had taken but two steps into her haven, tranquility was broken and she felt discomfort inhabit mind and body once again.
"Miss McGonagall?" a shadow spoke.
Squinting she watched the shadow materialize into a tall ginger wizard who appeared to be looking kindly, yet curiously at her. She edged away from him, coming to stand behind the comfort of a black monstrosity of a cauldron. She eyed him with mingled interest. She seldom had visitors; people knew to leave her alone. She worked best by herself, and she knew people found her unnerving.
"Yes," she affirmed, not feeling inclined to further a conversation.
The wizard gave her a smile, whether it was sincere or mocking, she couldn't really decide. But nonetheless the ginger haired wizard smiled and spoke once again his voice seeming loud in the small dimly lit laboratory.
"Pleased to meet you," he extended long fingers and Minerva somewhat reluctantly shook his hand, not really caring for the long grasp he held her hand in. He continued, not disturbed by her loose shake, "You're just the witch I need".
He didn't elaborate and Minerva found herself opening her mouth and words slipping out before she could think. Most inconvenient on her part, she rather disliked these forced conversations where she would be forced to participate. But curiosity had a stronger hold on her, and thus she found herself in her first human-to-human conversation in months.
"Naw, why would tha be, Mr…-?" she stopped and gave the wizard an inquiring look. She found it rather rude for him to know her name but that she had no clue who he was. Common conversation courtesy dictated introduction from her point of view.
The wizard's smile deepened and to her displeasure she found the corners of her mouth lift upwards of their own accord. She quickly covered it with a frown, narrowing her eyes as she took in the form of the wizard. He was tall in an imposing way, his figure lean in long, shape fitting robes of a dark blue. A little on the gangly side, she determined. She looked up and caught his eyes calmly watching her from behind glasses. She quickly averted her gaze and tried to quell her blush. He had caught her looking.
"Dumbledore," he introduced himself, "Albus Dumbledore".
The name seemed vaguely familiar to her but she could not pinpoint the origin.
She looked up; "An' what business do yeh have with me, Mr. Dumbledore". She found herself once again caught looking at him. This time she kept her gaze locked with his defiantly and waited for his response.
"Advice, Miss. I am in dire need of potion advice, of a more potent nature. I asked around and your name came up the most frequently."
Her first thought was to dismiss him immediately; she had lost enough time as it was. She was supposed to be brewing up concoctions, not chit-chatting with strangers lurking in her laboratory. But somehow, not voluntarily, a single word escaped her lips.
"Oh," and to her own astonishment she welcomed the wizard to sit down, the table and cauldron between them. She silently directed her magic at various lamps around the room, and they were suddenly bathed in the fluorescence of lights. With the bright illumination she found she was once again looking at the wizard. Her gaze landed upon his face. His nose, she decided, was too crocked for her liking and with the light small wrinkles had appeared around his face. But his smile seemed genuine to her, maybe that was why she hadn't thrown him out yet.
"So what kind of information are yeh looking for, Mr. Dumbledore?"
"Albus," the wizard replied good-naturedly.
"Excuse me,"
"You are more than welcome to call me Albus," he responded. Minerva idly wondered if this meant she had to invite him to call her by her first name as well. It would be the polite thing to do.
"Okay, Albus, what is it that I can help yeh with?"
And finally he started explaining and Minerva found her curiosity had just been a slight, little ember. As he continued to talk, her curiosity and interest only increased. At the end of his story, Minerva found herself agreeing to help him with his project and once again shaking his large hand.
Hours later, back in her solitary serene house and in the presence of silence, she closed her eyes as she relaxed against the back of her sofa, her living room dimly lit by candle light. And instantly the image of the ginger-haired wizard crept into her mind. She abruptly opened her eyes, annoyed at the intrusion. In an attempt to rid her mind of thoughts, she leapt up and walked into her bathroom. A shower would bring her peace she was certain.
And thus two souls interweaved.
____________________________________________________
Purgatory II - Present
The circle of hell so desolate with coldness. The empty human so devoid of warmth.
Guilty, the wizard screamed at her. The witch shrank, her tears streaming heavily down her cheeks. Guilty another wizard screamed. She watched as the dark shadows of wizards enclosed her in a circle, their eyes directing the verdict with hatred and contempt. The witch tried to run but she was trapped in this dark room, with these people who hated her, who condemned her. She looked up and caught his empty gaze and she flinched. The gaze of cerulean looked upon her with such an indifference, such a coldness. She called out to him, but he was gone. She was alone suddenly in the dark, cold room. She wept.
Minerva bolted from her bed, half crying and half hyperventilating as she stormed from her bed, away from her vivid nightmares. Her legs carried her outside, a path she had taken many dark nights and she quickly turned into her animagus form as she leapt towards the dark outline of the forest a couple of hundred yards from her house. Her nights had once again been stalked by horrid dreams, ever since her trial. Ever since her life had come tumbling down with the dark secrets she's been forced to reveal. Despite a ruling of self-defense in the end she had been branded, marked with an invisible judgment of murder. Her body itched, her mind reeled. And she would run every night, try to outrun the dark mark of murderess and his look of coldness. And she never quite succeeded. She might be free on paper but prejudice and her peers had her locked tightly in her own imprisonment.
Numbly she remembered the first day, how she had swiftly run across the lawns, the imminent castle just in her sight. How she had despairingly climbed all the stairs to his office. How she had knocked, tears already forming in her eyes. The dark forest swept past her as she remembered when no answer came from beyond the door. She remembered emptiness settling into her body.
Minerva ran half-blind, trying to outrun her despair and emptiness. Sometime just as dawn was breaking she ended up in the wet grass, looking up at the still dark sky. Her lungs could no longer continue the crying and the screaming, so it left her with staring blindly at nothing.
Her heart was so cold, so cold. Sometimes she wished for death, other times for revenge and in between in the darkest, deepest pit of her dead heart she wished for the warmth of an embrace, the twinkling of cerulean blue eyes accompanied by sweet tinkling laughter. These dark, deep hidden desires were immediately squashed and she quickly transformed them into hatred and despair. It simmered so warmly and kept her from falling deeper into the grip of insanity.
She remembered how the wizengamot had coldly told her she would be free to go and how she'd imagined they were throwing her in Azkaban. How she had been too relieved at first to notice the lack of warmth in the depths of their eyes.
Her heart was cold and forgiveness was not a concept she was familiar with anymore.
Abandonment is a colorful chameleon and in the dead of night as rage entraps tendrils of the rising cold, abuse of trust comes first to mind.
____________________________________________________
Purgatory III - Past
The sweet flight to heaven is tainted with the sour betrayal of memories.
Minerva leaned forward over the cauldron watching as the simmering potion turned a dark shade of orange upon her stirring. The luscious smell of ripe fruit assaulted her nose then and she inhaled with a delighted heart.
To her left being ignored rather crudely, sat Albus Dumbledore on a chair trying his best to contain his laughter upon the sight of the elated witch. He had entirely forgotten the purpose of his visit, and that he had yet to be actually greeted by said witch. The witch seemed so enamored by her potion-making and he could hardly disrupt her obviously elated moment with impatience on his part. He watched her movements as she quickly sliced a dark root and slipped the small fine clumps into the cauldron. He watched with amazement as smoke billowed out, the tendrils of the fiery flames forming images of shimmering dragon flies.
He was surprised when he was suddenly looked upon, two glowing dark eyes regarding him for the first time since he had entered the laboratory. Her whole persona transformed then and instead of delight he was met with a frown. Albus took no notice though; he had become rather accustomed to the witch and the scowls upon which she deemed it necessary to greet him with. It rather amused him.
"So," Minerva ineloquently started, her arms crossed as she took a few steps back to stand behind her cauldron. Albus tried to contain his bemusement at her few words; an occurrence he had come to recognize as a delightful appearance. In the many first meetings he had been slightly annoyed at the sparse contribution to a conversation on her part, but slowly he had found this quirky trait enchanting in its own right.
"Well, my dear potionsmistress, I have run into a elixir predicament and am at a loss what to do," he replied watching as she raised an eyebrow at him. He waited for her reply a few seconds before he realized she was not going to speak, so he continued, "If an ingredient of a – a magically origin were to be shredded to powder before adding it to a potion but this would be an impossible undertaking, what would you recommend? "
She gave him another of her looks, "What have yeh replaced the powder with insofar?"
Albus gave a short snort of laughter. He wondered how she'd known.
"Well," he started, "I tried to thicken the ingredient into a paste instead but -"
"Hmmf, have yeh nevae read the Magical Splitting of Elements" Minerva interrupted him as she walked away from the cauldron and strode to the back of her laboratory. When she came back, a large dark book was in her arms and she continued while she gave him a reproachful look, "The essence of powder is not the same as tha of paste, it's a classic notion people seem tae believe in but the difference is vast."
Contrary to her before mentioned few words once the topic turned in the direction of potion-brewing, the vocabulary of their conversation rose considerably.
"I seem to remember skimming said book a few decades ago," Albus retorted as he gave the witch a wide smile. It was on rare occasions that Minerva would indeed smile back at him but she surprised him as she gave a short laughter followed by a look in the depths of her dark eyes so reminiscent of mirth, that Albus was momentarily shocked. He was further flustered as Minerva half-threw, half-gave him the dark book and while he fumbled with it she returned once again to her potion that had started boiling.
"I recommend reading the paragraphs on molecular structure when pertaining to teh magical elements", she said over her shoulder, stirring counter-clockwise. Albus was just about to open his mouth when he was once again interrupted by the witch, "What ingredient is it that you're trying to powderise again?," she stopped briefly, her lips curling slightly upwards and her eyes darkening as she continued, "I've heard tha some explosions should do wonders in regards tae making powder".
Albus laughed and inwardly felt warmth spread when he realized this was the first joking comment Minerva had made since he had first met her.
"I've heard similar rumors and I must admit much against my better judgment, that I've indeed concocted such experiments," he stopped and gave her a shrewdly grin which turned mischievously crocked when he added, "unsuccessfully"
Minerva stirred her potion once again, clockwise this time and Albus watched as she tried to hide a delightful grin as she bent her head. She mumbled something that sounded extraordinarily like 'who hasn't' but Albus wasn't sure.
Albus watched as she doused the flames underneath the cauldron until only the small sparks of embers were glowing and then she went in to the back of her laboratory again. When she emerged she was carrying a basket full of vials.
"It must be some variant of fluid, maybe with more than one magical core," she stated then and Albus found himself bewildered at first but then realized she was talking about the powder.
"Yes," he affirmed her hypothesis and elaborated, "it's blood from a -"
Minerva interrupted him for the third time but it was a very different disruption. Her eyes had darkened, not from amusement, and her whole stance transformed into a mask of slightly contained disdain and what surprised him the most, was the narrowing of her eyes as she looked at him with thinly veiled surfacing anger.
"Blood," she coldly snapped, "is a most potent part of dark magic, Mr. Dumbledore and usually the first tell-tale sign of dark intents". She was once again hiding behind her cauldron, her hands slightly trembling. The previous casual warmth of the room had been replaced with a sudden coldness that sent shivers down his spine.
"Miss McGonagall," he started his voice somber as he tried to explain the situation, "I can assure you that I have no dark intentions in regards to the means of blood in my work. I've been researching the uses of dragon blood for quite some time now and while I have discovered many interesting aspects of this ingredient in potion-making, I'm still not quite satisfied. So I have been tinkering with the idea of using the dragon blood in the guise of powder instead of in its pure form."
"Oh" Minerva responded, her anger dissipating and a sudden blank expression in her eyes. Silence descended upon the room and Albus felt a nervousness settling in his stomach as he tried to come up with something further to say, to somehow renovate the comfortable atmosphere that had resided in the room before any mention of blood.
Minerva was pouring the dark orange liquid into her vials. Just when he thought the atmosphere was shattered beyond repair, Minerva spoke, her voice quiet; "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions, Mr. Dumbledore"
"Albus," he corrected and gave her a smile when she looked up from her work.
"Albus," she granted him, a smile slowly taking form.
And thus a flicker of light leapt through darkness, its path destined for the beginnings of familiarity.
____________________________________________________
Purgatory IV - Present
The companionable embrace of loneliness holds no warmth, and in that void comes the hunt for a little flame.
Two weeks of nothing, and Minerva felt she was beyond the grasp of insanity and had moved into an altogether worse category, an unnamed feeling of being swathed in something worse. She longed for company, longed for just a little bit of compassion. She had tried to go among the throngs of people as they were hurrying by in Diagon Alley, walked among the crowds of happy, excited wizards and witches of various ages but it had been a nightmare in itself. She had felt the snare of paranoia settling in, felt the swarm of people constricting and entrapping her. She had felt their eyes upon her, their quiet discomfort and contempt. It was ludicrous for she knew that her crime had only been disclosed to a small amount in the wizengamot, not even the entire assembly of redeemed wizards and witches had been present. But nonetheless, it had felt as if the entire population of wizardry knew, and were silently condemning her. She had felt so awkward that she's barely made it to Flourish and Botts before she had escaped back to her lonely, solitary house.
A few days after she had tried Hogsmeade but that had turned out to be just as disastrous. She had been too concerned with the likely prospect of running into him that she'd been trembling and shivering so badly that people indeed had started looking at her. She had apparated so quickly back to her cottage that she's been surprised she had not splinched.
And yesterday she had gone to a muggle town, certain that it would turn out much better than the other places. But she had been mistaken, once again. But out of despair and a burning anger at herself, she had forced herself to stay and do her shopping. She had arrived at her doorstep soaked in her own sweat, her breath coming in short gasps and tears beginning to form.
So today she had settled for absolutely nothing and was as such sitting in her garden, soft cold grass keeping her company along with the forming clouds above her. As she lay, her mind wandered and came upon the memory of happier days. The vivid image of him was immensely painful as remembrance of twinkling eyes and tender caresses played in her mind. And that was how she spent her day, wallowing in her grief and anger. The two was so intricately entwined that at times they were hard to distinguish from each other. One moment she would contemplate writing him a letter explaining and imploring understanding but then she would swiftly consider magically wiping him from her mind and memories or she would imagine his face when she hexed him. Why was he avoiding her? Why had he not contacted her?
She tried to even her breathing but soon tears fell and she inhaled sharply at the pain constricting in her chest. And just as she thought she would go mad, descend into further darkness, a bright shadow flew across her vision and she watched with shock and surprise as Fawkes landed next to her. The bird watched her curiously as she hiccoughed and tried to get her emotions under control. Her fingers trembled as she lightly stroked the dazzling neck of the phoenix.
"Fawkes," she managed to stutter and continued to caress the bird, feeling the soft feathers beneath her fingers.
"What are yeh doing here?" she continued even though she was aware that the phoenix would not be able to answer her. "I highly doubt yeh wizard sent yeh, huh".
Fawkes just gave her another bird look, a few thrilling notes escaping him. She gave a half laugh and nearly started crying again but she managed to reign in her emotions.
"My life's a real mess Fawkes," she told the bird feeling strangely comfortable and continued, "an awful mess… what am I tae do huh?"
The phoenix nudged her arm with his beak as an answer and Minerva felt a small bubble of laughter surface.
"Well Fawkes, yeh're all I got."
Just then the somewhat tranquil atmosphere that had settled between her and the phoenix and the peace that had finally emerged in her mind came to an abrupt end with the loud sound of someone apparating.
Minerva looked up and to her horror Albus Dumbledore stood on her lawn only a few meters away from her.
"Yeh!" she half stuttered, half cursed, feeling an intense anger building up inside her as she stared at the wizard in front of her, "Yeh have no business here," she told him brusquely.
"Perhaps not," he said in a quiet voice as if he was uncertain as to what it was he was doing here.
"Then I beg you tae leave," she pointed to the north, standing firmly in her spot trying not to break out crying.
"Can we talk?"
"No – I have no desire tae talk to yeh"
"Can I talk?" he continued unabated.
"Mr. Dumbledore please" her voice was tinged with exasperation.
"It's a story"
"I'm hardly in a mood for a fairy tale"
"Once upon a time there was this wizard," he started nonetheless his blue eyes staring softly at her, somehow no longer swathed in indifference.
She sighed but nonetheless kept quiet.
"This wizard was regarded as powerful and wise beyond means and everyone would thread lightly around him, revere him and look up to him. He was put on a pedestal" His voice had taken on a somber note and Minerva felt something else besides anger but she quelled it.
"I would love tae shove a stick up yehs truly," she commented instead keeping her walls up, feeling the need to insult the wizard.
He briefly gave her a pointed look but then continued, "But the wizard was just like everybody else – and one day he made the gravest mistakes of them all." He looked at her then, his eyes seeking her out, "He betrayed a friend."
And there they stood, silently regarding each other.
"Once upon a time there was a witch," she broke the silence, "a witch whom experience had taught her not tae trust easily. Once fine day a wizard came by and she slowly started tae trust again. Everything was fine until one day when teh wizard betrayed tha trust." She stopped for a short breath, "Do yeh know what happened tae her?"
"No" he spoke his voice breaking, his finger shaking.
"She learned her lesson – trust is good for nothing but pain"
"Minerva," he rasped, "I am so sorry – I wish-"
"I wish yeh would leave me alone, Albus"
"I cannot do that,"
"Sure, turn around and apparate back tae whence yeh came"
"I am sorry I hurt you – I'm sorry I broke your trust. But most importantly, Minerva, I am most sorry I was not there for you. I am sorry I left my more ugly emotions rule my actions. I was shocked, I was- "
"Yeh were disgusted."
"No"
"Yes yeh were – I saw yeh eyes Albus – they were disgusted."
"Shocked, sad and slightly angry – but never disgusted"
She laughed darkly, "Angry! Yeh were angry!"
"I felt slightly betrayed"
"Yeh felt betrayed!"
"Yes – I thought I had your confidence and then all of a sudden, you're someone else with secrets. I know ridiculous of me, vain actually but that was how I felt initially."
She laughed bitterly then, and he joined her a few moments later.
"Yeh are something, yeh know tha! I think all this greatest and powerful wizard of the century has gone tae yeh head!"
"I am afraid you are right. I'm quite the megalomaniac," his voice had turned from solemn to amusement and it was contagious despite her pain.
"I guess we could talk a bit" she resigned, already feeling a slight tendril of release bubble up from where she'd repressed it to. The wizard on the other hand broke out in a smile and in a swift move took hold of her elbow and started guiding her in the direction of her house.
"Splendid"
And thus they met once again, two souls wrapped in a precariously thin film of hope.
____________________________________________________
Purgatory V - Past
Blessed be the first signs of love
Albus looked at the fidgeting witch in front of him and mentally added another adorable trait to the list of things said witch had a habit of doing. He had finally succeeding in inviting her to Hogwarts and she was presently sitting on his couch in a ramrod straight stance, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her sleeves. And when she caught him looking her dark eyes would scowl and tell him in a no nonsense look 'that he better stop acting the dunderhead if she was forced to be in his company'. He only laughed and continued to stare which only exaggerated her scowls. In the end she turned her chin up and decided to stare back haughtily at him.
"You know – I think your nose is a bit too pointy," he told her and he watched as her eyes narrowed, her lips forming a straight line.
"Yeh are hardly one tae talk about flawed noses, Headmaster" she told him in a tight voice but he noticed the tiny spark of delight in her dark eyes.
"Hmm, well, you are entirely too pale" he told her then, scooting closer on the couch.
"And yeh look like death warmed over," she retaliated while scooting closer to the arm of the couch, her eyes appearing frightened for a slight moment before they took on the characteristic look of annoyance.
"And worst of all; you are too tall," he spoke in a near whisper, leaning in to gently bestow a soft kiss upon her lips. When he leaned back he met the gaze of surprise upon her face. He laughed merrily – it was seldom he could surprise the dear potions mistress.
"- yeh-yeh are- tall –too-" she stuttered.
"Exactly my dear – we fit perfectly."
And from that moment she relaxed back into the couch and her dark eyes regarded him mirthfully.
"Yeh are impossible," she told him.
"I should hope not," he replied and for the first time he heard a giggle escape her lips and he felt a wonderful delight at hearing her amusement.
"How is the Ministry faring these days?" he asked her.
"Same auld, same auld – the ministry still employ fools who think tha elixirs are no good except for curing headaches."
"You poor one"
"I know. Just teh other day, teh Minister for Magical Law asked me whether it was okay tae mix asphodel with an antidote for burn wounds!"
Albus laughed upon seeing the exasperated look in her dark eyes.
"She thought asphodel would only strengthen teh potency of teh potion!"
"What horrendous lecture did you give her?" Albus shook his head but was much more interested in curling a strand of black hair around his finger than actually listening to the story. Minerva seemed distracted for a brief moment as she leaned closer, her eyes glowing with mischief.
"She was clearly lacking any competency in potions-brewing, so naturally I told her tae take a seat and start slicing teh caterpillars!" she told him in an amused voice as she snatched her hair from his fingers, poking him in the chest as a warning. Albus looked up and caught her emerald gaze. They were mere inches apart and he could see the golden flecks in her iris and the small few freckles that adorned her nose.
"How long have you've been teaching our dear Minister for Magical Law?" he asked as he arched an eyebrow. He had never known anyone taking lack of knowledge as a personal insult, but Minerva did. He remembered the many first encounters he'd had with the dark-haired witch and had he been lesser of a wizard he would have been intimidated. In honesty, he berated himself then, he had been slightly intimidated. But he had been more intrigued than intimidated him, he realized.
"A week tomorrow – Hilda is making progress," she replied in a dry voice, her eyes however sparkling with enjoyment.
"Poor Minister!" Albus exclaimed, secretly glad he was not the apprentice in Minerva' laboratory. He had never possessed a hand for perfection when it came to potions. Oh he possessed the initiative and creative thinking that went along with experimenting but actually doing the meticulous work was beyond him. He always ended up with slicing his own fingers off or somehow burning the whole mess to cinders. Minerva demanded perfection when it came to brewing, and he was sure Hilda would never again think about mixing ingredients again.
Minerva laughed again, a wonderful sound that resounded through the room and left Albus with a feeling of joy. He slowly caressed her cheek and watched tenderly as she blushed scarlet. To his surprise she did not move however, her eyes locked with his and her beautiful lips graced with a genuine smile.
"And yeh?" she asked and despite the few words Albus understood the question.
"Wonderful," he replied while threading a hand through her dark hair, "Why just yesterday the whole class of first-years managed to turn needles into a matchsticks."
"Wauw," she commented in mock-wonder. He only laughed and continued:
"I've had so much free time on my hands actually that I finished my paper," he told her on a more serious note, noticing the immediate interest in her eyes.
"Tha's wonderful," she told him.
"Yes – I do believe the use of powdered dragon blood in Everlasting Elixir will indeed make a breakthrough! At the very least it will certainly earn a few howlers from the old conventionally masters," he added.
"I know at least five masters who will not hesitate tae put some nasty hex with those howlers," she told him with a smile.
"Wonderful," he replied sarcastically but continued in a much more cheery voice, "good thing I accredited you in the foreword. We can share the pain then." She looked at him in surprise, her mouth slightly parted and her green eyes suddenly dark with disbelief mingled with frustration.
"Please tell me it's a bad joke," she said in a low voice, her eyes turning unreadable.
"I'm afraid I cannot. You will most likely be the recipient of angry howlers as well," he laughed merrily as the surprise turned to a dark pout on her face.
She punched him gently,
"Yeh rascal!"
They looked at each other for a moment before they both broke out in laughter.
Sometimes old wounds do heal in the presence of warmth.
____________________________________________________
Paradise
The complex, dark design of the heart so easily kindled with fire. The intricate, dangerous existence of love so easily conquered by the gentle soul.
Secrets. Dark, disclosed secrets that had been hidden under layers and layers of memories past. Horrible, unspeakable secrets that'd threatened to spill their dark intent and possible spoil all. One never forgot those covert and hidden memories; that would be an impossible feat. The witch shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she watched the blue tender gaze of the wizard opposite her. She shuddered but immediately felt a comforting hand rest upon her arm, an encouraging thumb stroking her skin. The witch opened her mouth and tentatively she heard a few words escape, the remembrance of the dark past rearing its ugly head. The witch continued the story however, trying to block out the emotions. Her voice was motionless and small but still the words continued. It quite surprised her but when she first got going, the words flew from her mouth like a cascade of water, tumbling out of her quite voluntarily. Every now and then she looked up and caught the wizard's eyes, half expecting him to be disgusted. But every time her eyes locked with a steady gaze, the depths held nothing but tenderness. The blue orbs fascinated her, the swirling mass of color revealing a visage of things the witch had kept under lock and key. They were not their usual twinkling blue but a bright cerulean, specs of dark blue interweaved in with the vivid azure, emotions enriching them with a small sparkle. The witch felt herself fall into the gaze, drowning in the ocean of the deep blue sea and calmness settled into her. A serenity she'd forgotten existed. It felt wondrous and tranquil. The witch crawled from her hole of darkness, emerging into the light and warmth, feeling the last tendrils of coldness seeping from her. She felt lighter and warmer than she remembered was possible. No longer did she feel weighed down or wrapped in dark, menacing horror. She no longer felt wrong and sinful. And this new metamorphism settled into the very soul of the witch, ablaze with life and fire.
When night fell and shadows began to play, she calmly watched the sleeping wizard beside her fascinated by the rise and fall of his chest. She slowly traced a finger along his jaw, mesmerized and bursting with an overwhelming sense of belonging.
The witch had found her heart and home. She would forever float in the ocean of blue, swim the tides of cerulean and dive into the deep dark.
Two souls intertwined, soaring high.
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The reason MM isn't currently the potions-mistress at Hogwarts you ask! The position was already filled back in 1956!
//Pal
