Post by ginger newts on Sept 6, 2004 18:18:56 GMT -5
This one was inspired by the holiday challenge and I'll warn you now you're going to choke on the cheesiness at the end. Ah well, it satisfied my need to write something today. I dedicate this one to Christy, whose kind words motivated me to sit down and type it up. 
Gifts for a Goddess
Minerva woke early as she did every day and reaching for her glasses felt her hand brush something soft on the bedside table. Blinking, she picked up the strange article and stared at it, shaking her head as if to clear it. It was a hand knitted pair of socks in her favorite color of emerald green. Looking at the socks more closely, Minerva noticed a note sticking out of the top of one of them. Pulling it out, she read and again blinked and shook her head as if this would make the contents of the note make sense. It read simply: “And so the celebration begins.”
‘What celebration?’ She thought. ‘Who sent me these socks?’ In truth, there was only one person Minerva could think of who would give socks as a gift, but wondered why he would be giving them to her now. It was the middle of March, nowhere near her birthday or any other holiday of note. Confused, Minerva got up and got ready for the day, deciding to wear her new socks in case the anonymous giver might notice them and decide to reveal him or herself.
Throughout breakfast that morning, Minerva watched the Headmaster closely out of the corner of her eyes. She highly suspected that it was he who had given her the socks and, if she was honest with herself, she secretly hoped she was correct and that it meant what she thought it meant. Albus, however, gave her no signs that he had done anything out of the ordinary that morning; well, anything out of the ordinary that he didn’t do everyday, for Albus Dumbledore was far from an ordinary man.
Sighing inwardly and still very confused, Minerva made her way to her classroom and was surprised for the second time in a few hours to find a folded piece of parchment on her desk. Opening it carefully, she began to read and felt herself blushing as her confusion grew. It was a poem, dated March 19, 1975 and addressed to “My Goddess,” but it contained no signature, no sign at all as to the identity of the author. The poem described her beauty and her intelligence in glowing terms and made mention of the humble offering left for her that morning. Minerva spent the day in a growing state of bewilderment, her mind only half on her teaching as she continued to ponder who her secret admirer might be and just what their intentions were.
The next five days passed in a similar manner to the first and by the 23rd, Minerva found herself waking even earlier than usual and looking eagerly to the bedside table to see what handmade craft had been left for her that day. Each day since the first, she had awoken to a gift by her bed, one morning it was a beautifully carved wooden kitten, another a bouquet of origami flowers in a rainbow of colors. Each gift was so lovely and showed so much thought and Minerva was certain that whoever had made them must have spent hours preparing them for her. She had to admit to herself that she was very flattered, but she desperately wanted to know who the gifts were from. She had tried very hard not to let herself hope that they were from Albus, but couldn’t really stop herself from doing so. Minerva had loved Albus for so long and found herself feeling like a giddy schoolgirl anytime he would harmlessly flirt with her. She tried to tell herself that it meant nothing to him, that Albus was just a good natured and friendly man, but she couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t flirt with anyone else quite the way he did with her. Shaking off thoughts of Albus for the thousandth time that week, Minerva climbed out of bed and began preparing for the day.
As she had come to expect over the week, there was a note waiting for her when she entered her classroom that morning. In addition to the homemade gifts, Minerva had received a poem every morning, poems she could find no other way to describe than as paying homage to her, to her mind, her beauty, her powers, always calling her a goddess. ‘Someone is worshiping me,’ she found herself thinking on the third day, ‘how odd.’ She honestly could think of no explanation for these gifts and poems, but whoever was behind it all seemed determined to make her feel like the goddess she was named for. The morning of the fifth day, when Minerva opened the note expecting to find yet another poem she was surprised once again, this one contained a simple note yet again unsigned.
“My goddess,” it read, “I hope the humble offerings I have made these past days have pleased you. It is my sincere wish that you will look favorably upon me, a mere mortal, and that you approve of my actions. If you would like to find out who your supplicant is, please meet me under the beech tree by the lake at 9:00 tonight. I will be most honored should you decide to favor me with your divine presence.” The note was signed, “A Humble Admirer.”
Minerva was completely flabbergasted by the contents of the note and she spent the rest of the day in a fog, thinking only of what she might find at nine that evening. Unable to settle herself to anything productive, she spent the hours after dinner pacing in her rooms and thinking about all the possibilities of what she might be about to encounter by the lake. Finally, at quarter to nine, she resigned herself to whatever her fate might be and made her way out onto the grounds. The site that met her eyes made her gasp in surprise. She did not see anyone standing in the vicinity of the lake, but the area around the beech tree had been completely transformed. There were candles floating effortlessly in the air and the ground beneath the tree was covered in flowers, she also saw a bottle of wine and two glasses. Looking around for her admirer, as she had come to call the anonymous gift giver, Minerva jumped when she felt a hand on her waist.
“I am so honored that you came,” a voice breathed into her ear.
Slightly wary of what she might find, Minerva turned and saw Albus Dumbledore standing behind her, looking at her with a sort of reverent hopefulness. “Albus?” she whispered. “It...it was you?”
He nodded and led her over to sit on a cushion he conjured among the flowers. “Yes, it was me. Are you sorry it was me?” He asked, with a note of anxiety in his voice.
“No, Albus, actually nothing pleases me more than finding out it was you. But why, Albus?”
He kneeled before her and said, “Because I love you, Minerva. I have loved you for a long time and I wanted to finally tell you.”
Minerva was struck speechless for some time, her mind was reeling. He loved her! Albus Dumbledore, the only man she’d ever loved, loved her in return. It was too much. Finally, she found her voice, “Why now, Albus, and why the gifts and notes, why not just tell me? I just...I don’t understand.”
Albus smiled at her confusion and began to explain, “Do you not know what holiday it was this week, my dear?” When she shook her head, he smiled and continued, “The days of March 19-23 were known to the ancient Romans as the Quinquartrus, it was a holiday to celebrate the goddess Minerva. I could think of no better time to shower you with gifts before revealing my feelings.”
Minerva laughed, “Only you, Albus, would think of something as eccentric as celebrating the Quinquartrus. You have truly made me feel like a goddess this week, though I’m not certain I deserve to be worshiped so. I can never express how your gifts and poems made me feel, but tonight you have given me the best gift of all.” When he raised an eyebrow in question, she smiled, “Tonight you have given me the only thing I have ever wanted, your love. Oh, Albus, I love you too, I love you so much.” Cupping his cheek in her palm, Minerva leaned in and kissed him softly.
“Ah, my dear, now it is you who have given me a gift. I am truly honored to have you return my affection. But, Minerva, never doubt yourself again. You do deserve to be worshiped, more so than anyone I know. You are beautiful and wise and fair, not to mention powerful and strong...” He was silenced by a finger pressed gently to his lips.
“Sh, my love, I do not need to be praised so. Just knowing that you love me is enough.”
The couple then proceeded to spend the evening in each others arms, sharing the wine Albus had brought and exchanging tender words of love. Eventually, they adjourned to the castle to finish the night in a more intimate and private setting. In the years that followed, Minerva grew used to finding Albus’ handmade crafts beside her bed on the mornings of March 19-23 and he was always thanked in the best way that a goddess in love could think of to thank the man who loved her.
~~~~
The Quinquartrus is the Roman holiday celebrating Minerva (obviously) and two other deities. Offerings to Minerva were generally made in the form of crafts as she was the goddess of wisdom, but also of craftsmanship. The holiday was typically celebrated by schoolmasters and students, appropriate no?
By-the-way, I'm not sure I like the end of this...I don't know why it's just a bit too sappy for me. Any suggestions?
Gifts for a Goddess
Minerva woke early as she did every day and reaching for her glasses felt her hand brush something soft on the bedside table. Blinking, she picked up the strange article and stared at it, shaking her head as if to clear it. It was a hand knitted pair of socks in her favorite color of emerald green. Looking at the socks more closely, Minerva noticed a note sticking out of the top of one of them. Pulling it out, she read and again blinked and shook her head as if this would make the contents of the note make sense. It read simply: “And so the celebration begins.”
‘What celebration?’ She thought. ‘Who sent me these socks?’ In truth, there was only one person Minerva could think of who would give socks as a gift, but wondered why he would be giving them to her now. It was the middle of March, nowhere near her birthday or any other holiday of note. Confused, Minerva got up and got ready for the day, deciding to wear her new socks in case the anonymous giver might notice them and decide to reveal him or herself.
Throughout breakfast that morning, Minerva watched the Headmaster closely out of the corner of her eyes. She highly suspected that it was he who had given her the socks and, if she was honest with herself, she secretly hoped she was correct and that it meant what she thought it meant. Albus, however, gave her no signs that he had done anything out of the ordinary that morning; well, anything out of the ordinary that he didn’t do everyday, for Albus Dumbledore was far from an ordinary man.
Sighing inwardly and still very confused, Minerva made her way to her classroom and was surprised for the second time in a few hours to find a folded piece of parchment on her desk. Opening it carefully, she began to read and felt herself blushing as her confusion grew. It was a poem, dated March 19, 1975 and addressed to “My Goddess,” but it contained no signature, no sign at all as to the identity of the author. The poem described her beauty and her intelligence in glowing terms and made mention of the humble offering left for her that morning. Minerva spent the day in a growing state of bewilderment, her mind only half on her teaching as she continued to ponder who her secret admirer might be and just what their intentions were.
The next five days passed in a similar manner to the first and by the 23rd, Minerva found herself waking even earlier than usual and looking eagerly to the bedside table to see what handmade craft had been left for her that day. Each day since the first, she had awoken to a gift by her bed, one morning it was a beautifully carved wooden kitten, another a bouquet of origami flowers in a rainbow of colors. Each gift was so lovely and showed so much thought and Minerva was certain that whoever had made them must have spent hours preparing them for her. She had to admit to herself that she was very flattered, but she desperately wanted to know who the gifts were from. She had tried very hard not to let herself hope that they were from Albus, but couldn’t really stop herself from doing so. Minerva had loved Albus for so long and found herself feeling like a giddy schoolgirl anytime he would harmlessly flirt with her. She tried to tell herself that it meant nothing to him, that Albus was just a good natured and friendly man, but she couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t flirt with anyone else quite the way he did with her. Shaking off thoughts of Albus for the thousandth time that week, Minerva climbed out of bed and began preparing for the day.
As she had come to expect over the week, there was a note waiting for her when she entered her classroom that morning. In addition to the homemade gifts, Minerva had received a poem every morning, poems she could find no other way to describe than as paying homage to her, to her mind, her beauty, her powers, always calling her a goddess. ‘Someone is worshiping me,’ she found herself thinking on the third day, ‘how odd.’ She honestly could think of no explanation for these gifts and poems, but whoever was behind it all seemed determined to make her feel like the goddess she was named for. The morning of the fifth day, when Minerva opened the note expecting to find yet another poem she was surprised once again, this one contained a simple note yet again unsigned.
“My goddess,” it read, “I hope the humble offerings I have made these past days have pleased you. It is my sincere wish that you will look favorably upon me, a mere mortal, and that you approve of my actions. If you would like to find out who your supplicant is, please meet me under the beech tree by the lake at 9:00 tonight. I will be most honored should you decide to favor me with your divine presence.” The note was signed, “A Humble Admirer.”
Minerva was completely flabbergasted by the contents of the note and she spent the rest of the day in a fog, thinking only of what she might find at nine that evening. Unable to settle herself to anything productive, she spent the hours after dinner pacing in her rooms and thinking about all the possibilities of what she might be about to encounter by the lake. Finally, at quarter to nine, she resigned herself to whatever her fate might be and made her way out onto the grounds. The site that met her eyes made her gasp in surprise. She did not see anyone standing in the vicinity of the lake, but the area around the beech tree had been completely transformed. There were candles floating effortlessly in the air and the ground beneath the tree was covered in flowers, she also saw a bottle of wine and two glasses. Looking around for her admirer, as she had come to call the anonymous gift giver, Minerva jumped when she felt a hand on her waist.
“I am so honored that you came,” a voice breathed into her ear.
Slightly wary of what she might find, Minerva turned and saw Albus Dumbledore standing behind her, looking at her with a sort of reverent hopefulness. “Albus?” she whispered. “It...it was you?”
He nodded and led her over to sit on a cushion he conjured among the flowers. “Yes, it was me. Are you sorry it was me?” He asked, with a note of anxiety in his voice.
“No, Albus, actually nothing pleases me more than finding out it was you. But why, Albus?”
He kneeled before her and said, “Because I love you, Minerva. I have loved you for a long time and I wanted to finally tell you.”
Minerva was struck speechless for some time, her mind was reeling. He loved her! Albus Dumbledore, the only man she’d ever loved, loved her in return. It was too much. Finally, she found her voice, “Why now, Albus, and why the gifts and notes, why not just tell me? I just...I don’t understand.”
Albus smiled at her confusion and began to explain, “Do you not know what holiday it was this week, my dear?” When she shook her head, he smiled and continued, “The days of March 19-23 were known to the ancient Romans as the Quinquartrus, it was a holiday to celebrate the goddess Minerva. I could think of no better time to shower you with gifts before revealing my feelings.”
Minerva laughed, “Only you, Albus, would think of something as eccentric as celebrating the Quinquartrus. You have truly made me feel like a goddess this week, though I’m not certain I deserve to be worshiped so. I can never express how your gifts and poems made me feel, but tonight you have given me the best gift of all.” When he raised an eyebrow in question, she smiled, “Tonight you have given me the only thing I have ever wanted, your love. Oh, Albus, I love you too, I love you so much.” Cupping his cheek in her palm, Minerva leaned in and kissed him softly.
“Ah, my dear, now it is you who have given me a gift. I am truly honored to have you return my affection. But, Minerva, never doubt yourself again. You do deserve to be worshiped, more so than anyone I know. You are beautiful and wise and fair, not to mention powerful and strong...” He was silenced by a finger pressed gently to his lips.
“Sh, my love, I do not need to be praised so. Just knowing that you love me is enough.”
The couple then proceeded to spend the evening in each others arms, sharing the wine Albus had brought and exchanging tender words of love. Eventually, they adjourned to the castle to finish the night in a more intimate and private setting. In the years that followed, Minerva grew used to finding Albus’ handmade crafts beside her bed on the mornings of March 19-23 and he was always thanked in the best way that a goddess in love could think of to thank the man who loved her.
~~~~
The Quinquartrus is the Roman holiday celebrating Minerva (obviously) and two other deities. Offerings to Minerva were generally made in the form of crafts as she was the goddess of wisdom, but also of craftsmanship. The holiday was typically celebrated by schoolmasters and students, appropriate no?
By-the-way, I'm not sure I like the end of this...I don't know why it's just a bit too sappy for me. Any suggestions?
