{ Don't Need the Sunshine }

 Don't Need the Sunshine
AU HBP; Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore


“Minerva?”

She was sitting at the edge of the lake dangling her legs in the water. Her feet moved in circular patterns causing ripples to collide before spreading outward; marring the lake’s otherwise glassy surface. The muggle skirt she had thrown on that morning before rushing outside was hitched up to her knees, and she made no effort to hide the long legs that were normally obscured. Her mind was full of Albus and she barely noticed as a warm arm was placed around her shoulders and she was drawn close.

“Min, this isn’t like you. What happened?”

Minerva looked upward into Remus Lupin’s pale blue-grey eyes and almost burst into tears when she saw the concern in his face.

“Oh, I…” she trailed off, all plausible explanations failing to present themselves as her extensive vocabulary eluded her. “It’s nothing, Remus.”

He stared at her dubiously with one eyebrow raised for a few seconds, then turned her so her back was toward him and began to knead the tight muscles in her shoulders. Minerva flinched slightly as his hands moved over areas Albus had gripped forcefully mere hours beforehand, but gradually relaxed and leant into his touch.

“I have a feeling you’re not telling me the truth, Miss McGonagall,” Remus said, pulling her close to him again.

Minerva closed her eyes shut tightly and tried to stem the tears that threatened to erupt from her tired eyes. Remus placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. Albus’ words rang loudly in her ears.

Would it be different if I were Remus Lupin?

“I…” she started, willing herself not to cry, “He…”

Remus raised his eyebrows and she found that three words she had never wanted to say to another person spilled from her mouth.

“He wanted me,” she said softly, resting her head against Remus’ shoulder. Her body began to shake as emotion overcame her and Remus gently stroked her hair, letting her cling to him like a lifeline.

“Last night; he wanted me,” she whispered, looking upward once more, “I can’t allow that…but no one’s wanted me for so long I…”

She faltered as she drew back and folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Remus,” she said, staring over the large mass of water, “I’m trying to be what they need – and I think I’ve made some progress with Harry - but Albus…I don’t know what to anticipate.” She exhaled deeply, then shook her head. “He came to me last night, Remus. Harry had a nightmare and I went upstairs to make sure he was all right. Albus was waiting for me…”

Remus’ eyes didn’t draw away from her as he studied her gravely. “What did he do, Min?” he asked softly.

Minerva jerked her head upright and was surprised to see barely restrained anger in his eyes. “Not what you’re thinking, Remus,” she said hurriedly. She laughed; a sound more hollow than light-hearted. “He accused me of wanting you and not him.”

Remus looked startled and a clipped laugh escaped from Minerva’s lips. “Well there’s no need to look so horrified,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest.

A smirk crossed Remus’ face and he leant forward until they were merely inches apart. Minerva suddenly found his face close to hers and for an indeterminate amount of time he merely stared at her.

“Well I do recall having some rather erotic dreams about my Head of House in my seventh year,” he said hoarsely; his breath was warm against her face as the air between them became stagnant and Minerva hurriedly looked away.

“That is not funny, Remus,” she stuttered, her eyes flickering along the rocks lining the lake.

Remus leant back and held himself upright on his elbows; a smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know; the look on your face was priceless.”

Minerva turned to look at him and found his eyes to be dancing with humour with no trace of malice. In spite of herself a laugh bubbled from her throat, which was no doubt his intention.

“I can imagine,” she said dryly.

Remus rose to his feet and stood above her with his hand outstretched. “Come on, Min,” he said, still smiling slightly, “Come back inside.”

Minerva took his hand grudgingly and he pulled her upright with ease; his inhuman strength easily evident by the way his muscles strained against his robes. Remus linked his arm through hers and together they headed back toward the modest castle. Minerva was lost in thought and took several moments to comprehend that Remus was speaking again.

“Minerva, do you remember when I first came to Hogwarts?”

Minerva blinked furiously to bring herself back to the present and nodded absent-mindedly.

“Did you know that animagi were immune to werewolf bites?”

Remus halted and Minerva gave him a puzzled look. “What on earth brought that about?” she asked incredulously.

He shrugged slightly, looking for all the world like the shy school boy he had been in his first year. His feet began to trace lazy patterns in the damp grass as he looked steadfastly down at the ground. “It’s just…” he said finally, “I don’t think I have ever thanked you.”

Minerva frowned. “What for?”

Remus finally looked upward, and his eyes danced in time to the rays of sunlight that filtered through the overcast sky. “There’s not many who would willingly take a werewolf under their charge, let alone stay with them in their animagus form when they transformed. So…thank you…for believing in me.”

It was one of the few times that Minerva McGonagall had been rendered speechless, and she settled for nodding her head. “You’re welcome, Remus,” she said eventually.

A smile was thrown in her direction as he gestured for them to walk again. Minerva followed the younger man and gave him a side-long glance as they began to trek up a small hill. Despite being 20 or so years older, Minerva’s face was less lined than her younger counterpart, and her body less scarred. He had always been her favourite of the Marauders, an unspoken fact between them, and they had kept in touch after he had left school. His letters were sporadic at best, but what they lacked in frequency, they made up for in length. Her own responses were as detailed as his, and it was with no small amount of joy that she had written his acceptance letter for his application to teach at Hogwarts.

She had been disappointed when he had not written back to her, but the disappointment had turned to joy when he had arrived, bags packed, at her doorstep with a wide grin on his face. The moment she had opened the door, she had found herself being whirled around whilst he laughed madly. It was only when she had threatened to hex him that he had placed her delicately back on the ground.

The school term was due to start in one week and he had stayed with her whilst she helped him write lesson plans and gave him general tips for teaching.

"Remember that you should be able to control your class the second you walk into a room."
"I don’t think I can."

She smiled and rolled her eyes as they neared the castle; steadfastly ignoring Albus’ eyes as they passed where he sat still, looking over the brackish moors. Remus bristled beside her and she placed a reassuring hand on his arm as his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. Clearly he had not forgiven Albus for his behaviour the previous night

“Remus, please don’t say anything rash,” she pleaded, pulling him slightly so his pace quickened.

The tendons in Remus’ temple worked furiously as he kept a lid on his temper and allowed himself to be dragged into the kitchen. As soon as he entered, Remus pounded his fist on the table, sending an empty plate from breakfast crashing to the floor.

“Sorry, Min,” he said, restoring the plate with a wave of his wand, “I can’t help being angry at him. He has no right to ask anything of you; least of all that.” He spat the last work distastefully and Minerva sighed deeply.

“I’m a big girl, Remus,” she said with a shrewd grin, “I can handle myself.”

Remus’ mouth twitched slightly and his hands, which had been balled into fists, relaxed. “That you can, Min.”

He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and looked about the room ruefully. “Unfortunately I have to go,” he said sounding genuinely disappointed.

Minerva nodded understandingly, despite wanting to scream at him to stay. For her own sanity. “Of course, Remus.”

He smiled gently as he leant forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Min,” he whispered into her ear.

She pushed him away and smiled gratefully. “That would be nice, Remus.”

She followed him out into the corridor and leant against the doorframe as he bid her goodbye once more.

“Remember Min,” he said seriously, taking her hands in his, “If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to contact me.”

Minerva shooed him away with a wave of her hand causing him to grin widely before he disapparated with a small ‘pop.’ The instant he had left, Minerva leant forward and rested her elbows on her knees as she hung her head in her hands. Her ears, sensitized due to her animagus form, heard the sound of soft footfalls and she jerked herself upright and assumed her usual authoritative posture. To think herself helpless was one thing; for her charges to hold the same notion was something she could not, and would not allow.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that hung in the hallway and grimaced slightly. To say she looked dreadful was an understatement of the highest degree. Her face, normally unblemished, was streaked with tears and charcoal smudges under her eyes were testament to her lack of sleep the previous night.

Not merely beautiful, but breathtakingly handsome

She rolled her eyes and undid her hair from the restraints of its tight bun. Ebony locks fell down her back but were quickly drawn into a French twist. Again a noise alerted her to another’s presence and she looked upward to find Harry playing the most unsubtle of voyeurs from the staircase.

“What…explain yourself!” she said harshly, her pupils narrowing.

Harry didn’t seem remotely abashed and surveyed coolly before speaking. “I needed help with my Transfiguration homework,” he said, an almost cruel smile playing on his lips, “But you and Lupin looked to be preoccupied.”

Minerva bristled, and gradually Harry’s malicious gaze was replaced by one of contrition as Minerva’s anger became so palpable, magical vibrations could be felt in the air.

“Might I remind you, Potter,” she said coldly, “That you are under my roof and whilst that is the case the boundaries of common respect will be maintained.”

She spun on her heel and marched back down the corridor, leaving her unruly-haired charge staring at the floor. Her footsteps echoed loudly off the flagged stone as she escaped the castle via a back entrance and ran toward a heather field in the distance. She arrived in the field and collapsed onto her knees and took several deep shuddering breaths. Her chest constricted painfully as she leant forward and rested her head on her knees; curling her body with a flexibility only achievable by one who had been a feline animagus for more years than she cared to count.

Minerva had been 13 when she had mastered her form; a fact she kept secret from everyone. It gave her a sense of pride when she sauntered past her tormentors without them realizing it was the austere, clannish McGonagall they envied and thus despised. Her gift granted her an anonymity she adored, and she was able to sneak out from the castle and to the lake where she would read for hours, resting against the large oak tree that overhung over the far bank of the lake.

It had been her seventh year before she had been discovered. A crowd of Slytherins had caught her as she rushed to class and had begun to play a game of football with her as the ball. A short bark of laughter emerged from her throat as she recalled their looks of horror when she had transformed before their eyes. Their shock had granted her a few precious seconds of surprise and the group of five had found themselves hanging upside down in the hallway. The spell she had used was one of her own creation and thus they were not rescued until she took pity on them two days later and released them with no small sense of vindictiveness.

It had been the first and only time Minerva McGonagall had served a detention. Dippet was so impressed with her skill that her punishment was greatly reduced; much to the chagrin of the boys’ fathers, three of which were on the Board of Governors. Only Dumbledore had sensed that there was something amiss in Minerva’s recollection of events and he had confronted her with his suspicions citing that ‘her ability was too advanced for her age.’

Minerva sat upright and willed herself to rebuild the barriers that marked the restrictions of her dignified reputation. She may not have been the most loved Professor at Hogwarts, indeed she had been reduced to near tears during her first years by the cruelty of the notes she confiscated in class, but she was respected. Her eyes watered as her photographic memory proved once again to be a curse as much as a gift.

Frigid, old bitch.
I know! Someone needs to tell her to let her hair down.
The castle would collapse.

The notes changed after an incident when her drink had been spiked in her seventh year of teaching, and she had become intoxicated and therefore had thrown away many of her inhibitions.

She’s not bad looking.
But she’s an Ice Queen.
She really needs someone to get into her knickers.

She shook her head sharply, as much to dispel her memories as to attempt to rid herself of the head ache that was beginning to plague her, and rose to her feet. Her estate stretched before her and a smile tugged at her lips. Scotland was described as being ‘bleak’ and ‘untamed’, which it was; but to her it would always be beautiful.

A bright spot of red caught her attention, and her eyes narrowed behind her square-framed spectacles as she recognised a small family of Muggles picnicking beside her lake. The magical barriers hid her small castle from Muggle eyes, but they were free to roam her grounds; something she had always found irritating but had grudgingly allowed. The sunlight glinted off her glasses and caught the attention of a small girl who waved cheerily.

Smiling in amusement, Minerva waved back and received a toothy grin in response before the girl’s parents pulled her back down. Minerva’s headache seemed to increase tenfold and she began to walk back toward the castle. Her step quickened as the pace increased and she found herself staggering slightly. The Muggle family called out but Minerva paid them no heed, so intent on her destination. A particularly searing pain brought her to her knees and she gasped as her skull threatened to split.

“Oh, Merlin,” she whispered, “Make it stop.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked upward to find Harry staring down at her; his vivid green eyes full of concern.

“Professor?” he asked, a trace of urgency evident in his voice, “Are you all right.”

Minerva nodded her head slightly and struggled to her feet. “Yes, Potter,” she said weakly, “I’m fine.”

She placed one foot in front of her but another jolt of pain made her knees buckle and Harry was forced to lunge forward to prevent her from falling to the ground. He threw one of her arms around his shoulders whilst his other arm snaked around her waist and practically dragged her into the castle. His breath began to become ragged with exertion and Minerva pulled herself away from him when they entered and leant against the stone wall.

“Get me some water, Potter,” she said hoarsely, “And a headache potion.”

Potter spun on his heel immediately and Minerva slid down the wall and hung her head between her legs as bile crept up her throat. She dry wretched and curled into herself, not wanting to appear weak in front of her charge. A hand forced her to look upright and Harry poured a vial of potion down her throat. Minerva wretched again as the foul liquid ran down her esophagus and Harry handed her a glass of water, which she drank gratefully.

“Better?” he asked, sitting next to her and tracing small circles on her back.

“Better,” she affirmed as the pain began to subside.

Slowly the headache abated though the potion made her drowsy. Harry rose to his feet and held his hand out to her.

“I’ll help you to your rooms,” he said, not waiting for an answer as he pulled her upright. Minerva was forced to lean heavily against him as they navigated the staircase and it was with no small sigh of relief that she collapsed onto her four poster bed.
“Will you be all right alone, Professor?” Harry asked, unbuttoning her muggle jacket and sliding it over her shoulders.

Minerva nodded wearily and rolled onto her side. “Yes, Potter,” she said, cherishing the way the pillow contoured to her accommodate her face, “Go downstairs.”

Harry looked hesitant and Minerva waved her hand, shooing him away. He made what looked like a cursory inspection of her from his far vantage point and Minerva felt herself flush as his eyes lingered on her body. In Summer she discarded her wizarding robes in favour of the more tailored Muggle clothing, exposing a figure she knew many women would envy; and most men found alluring.

“Go, Potter,” she said, her voice gaining in strength.

Harry nodded sharply and turned away from her. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked down the corridor and Minerva exhaled deeply. Migraines had plagued her periodically throughout her life; usually during times of stress, and she knew that the best way of ensuring this did not happen again soon was to get plenty of rest.

Her eyelids drifted close and she summoned a tartan throw from the sofa and draped it over herself. No images of former students plagued her and she fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep, not caring that Harry Potter had seen her in a moment of weakness. She would rectify that mistake when she awoke.


Minerva awoke with a jolt as the image of herself looking in the Mirror of Erised ran in a continuous loop in her mind. The laugh of her father echoed in her ears, and she closed her eyes tightly and tried to calm down her heavy breathing. Her chest heaved as she inhaled deeply, and the fabric of her blouse was strained as her flesh pushed against it. She looked out the window in an attempt to divert attention away from her own memories, to see that it was dusk; the last rays of sunlight were fast disappearing below the horizon, leaving her estate a place of shadows and light.

“Good evening, sleeping beauty.”

Minerva’s neck cricked painfully, so fast was the speed that she jerked her head upward. Albus Dumbledore looked down at her; his sapphire blue eyes dark in the flickering light of the fire. For an indeterminable amount of time they merely stared at each other; he with desire burning in his eyes, she with resignation.

Minerva had been seventeen when she lost her virginity to none other than the Ancient Runes Professor. They had been discussing the latest discovery of Runes in Persia when he had placed his hand on her neck and run his fingers through her hair; releasing it from the constrains of the clip that held it high above her neck. His lips had followed soon after his fingers as he leant over her shoulder and unbuttoned her outer cloak, revealing the Muggle clothes she wore beneath. A maroon calf-length skirt and a white blouse; she had burnt them that night when she returned to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Fire, she’d found; was a far better cleansing agent than water.

She could still recall with more clarity than she wanted, the moment he had pushed her against his desk and stepped within the space of her legs. The wood had been hard against her back as he loomed above her. A transparency had flickered across her vision as he looked down at her trembling form, and she saw the eyes of the man she had murdered when she was 13. A scream had emerged from her throat at this point, but was quelled by a vicious slap that made her cheek burn like fire.

The minutes following, she deliberately avoided revisiting, though the animalistic grunts still visited her in somnolence. Afterward, he had dismissed her without a second glance though she remembered his smirk and statement of ‘melting the Ice Queen.’ She hadn’t cried as many would over her ‘loss of innocence.’ If anything she had treated it as she would an exam; one more item to be crossed off the list before being forgotten about.

Minerva shook her head roughly to dispel her macabre reflections, and tore her eyes away from Albus’. In a manner only achievable by those light of foot, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and leapt upright. She stood, poised like a cat, staring at the old wizard at the other side of the bed.

“What are you doing here, Albus?” she asked, smoothing down an errant lock of hair that had escaped from the French Twist.

“I came looking for you,” he said simply. His eyes were focused not on her eyes, and she looked down to find that the two upper buttons of her red blouse had come undone, revealing the simple black bra she wore.

Minerva nodded slowly as she quickly rectified her partial state of undress. “Well you’ve found me,” she said loudly.

Albus’ eyes moved upward and he focused his attention to her grey eyes, which had hardened. “I have, yes,” he agreed.

Feeling decidedly disconcerted, Minerva moved forward toward the door that led to the corridor. Albus echoed her movements and grabbed her wrist before she could turn the handle. The touch of his hand sent a jolt of heat through her body and she wrenched her hand away.

“Albus…” she warned.

“I need you.”

Minerva closed her eyes tightly. I need you. Three simple words. So simple. “As what, Albus?”

She pushed him away with her hands, but his grip was strong and he pulled her back so that they stood entwined. His hands, holding her wrists in a vice grip. He didn’t answer verbally as he released one of her hands and reached upward to clasp the nape of her neck, his fingertips tracing images on the soft skin.

“I think you know, Minerva.”

His voice was gentle and Minerva found herself arching her neck as his fingers danced upward until they traced the contours of her jaw line. Her fingernails dug into his wrist as she struggled to free herself but his thin frame belied a strength that easily surpassed hers and he clasped his mouth against hers, as if by doing so he could consume her whole.

I need you…

Minerva inwardly sighed as she allowed him to explore her mouth with his tongue. His fingers undid the buttons of her blouse with absurd ease; exposing her torso. She suppressed a shudder as his fingers traced the outline of the four jagged scars that marred her otherwise pristine skin. He shed his own clothes in a ferocious silence, and she paid little attention as he lifted her bodily from the ground and placed her on the bed.

If physical contact was what he wanted; then she would oblige.

She only hoped she would not hate herself afterward.

----

The Ministry, Luna Lovegood, the Ministry, Alastor Moody, Neville Longbottom…

Minerva placed the letters into three piles according to the recipient. The five owls that had delivered the letters sat on the table expecting an owl treat, and she shooed them away irritably. Amid the indignant hoots a sob escaped from her lips and she leant heavily against the bench.

Two floors above her, Albus lay in her bed, stretched out languidly with the trace of a smile on his lips. They had laid awake last night, she allowing him to run his fingers through her hair as he spoke to her of his problems. He told her of finding Harry sitting numbly next to his best friend’s body; of the way Harry had lain in a state of catatonia for the next three days, refusing to eat of drink, and of the way the boy had beaten his fists against Albus’ chest, venting his anger and frustration at the older wizard.

Eventually he had fallen asleep, with one hand resting on her hip, holding her as if she were a porcelain doll that could shatter into a million pieces. His slumber was heavy and Minerva closed her eyes and tried to will her tired body to rest as he did. Sleep however, continued to elude her and she had crept out from the bed and retrieved her dressing gown from the end of the bed and wrapped it tightly around her waist. She could not help but feel contempt for herself. Though she had not resisted Albus’ advances, she felt used and unclean; like a whore.

Her tread had been light as she padded to the bedroom down the hall from her own, and she didn’t make a sound as she crossed the room, discarding the dressing gown as she walked. She entered the bathroom and continued straight toward the shower. Albus’ scent lingered on her skin where his lips and hands had traveled, making her feel strangely claustrophobic. She flinched slightly as she turned the tap and scalding water burst forth. Steam hissed as the water pounded against her skin, each droplet a pinprick of fire. She raised her face to the burning water and a smile flickered across her face. The pain had been oddly…satisfying.

It’s a fine line between pleasure and pain…

She whirled around on the tips of her toes as the creaking of a floorboard alerted her to another’s presence. Harry looked at her from across the room as if seeing her for the first time, his head tilted and brow furrowed. Green met grey as Minerva studied him just as intently as he did her. The earnest light of youth had vanished for Harry no longer dwelled in the myth that good would always rein supreme. If she were honest with herself, Minerva was surprised it had taken so long for that idealism of youth to fade. Now those once bright and inquisitive eyes were clouded; his emotions shrouded in the emerald pools. Harry’s eyes held a reserve she knew all to well; she herself had worn it since she was 13.

She bit her lip as a brief surge of anger coursed through her veins. It had taken one bellicose megalomaniac, just one, to render Harry’s childhood non-existent. Where was the justice in that? If the Ministry weren’t so inept…Minerva stopped herself before her thoughts turned to inevitable anarchy. She had opted more than once to try and persuade Albus…ah Albus…no she would not think about him either. A wetness bubbled on her lips and she touched her fingers to her mouth to find that blood had poured from the self-inflicted wound and was now dripping steadily from her chin to the polished hardwood floor.

“You’re up late, Potter,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said quickly, tearing his eyes away from hers and staring fixedly at the floor.

Minerva’s chest hurt, such was the empathy she felt for the young man before her.

“And you?” Harry asked.

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “I..?”

Harry shuffled his feet, looking for an instant like the awkward teenager he should be. “You’re up late as well.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but found that words escaped her. Harry had always been able to do that with her. Indeed if she didn’t know the boy so well, she would think he had perfected the art of lulling people into a false sense of security. “I…I was sorting the mail,” she said lamely, gesturing at the three piles before her.

A flicker of interest crossed over his face as Harry moved toward the table and took the sheaf of parchment from the scarred table. His face fell as he flicked through them and he replaced the pile wordlessly and put his hands in his pockets.

“Were you expecting a letter from someone in particular?” Minerva asked, moving around the table that sat between them and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Harry shrugged aimlessly. “I thought there might be something from Hermione,” he said softly, his voice cracking slightly.

Minerva squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sure she’ll write soon.”

“Her and Ron were together.”

The words resounded around the silent room, and if she could Minerva would have caught them and done the metaphorical equivalent of tearing them to shreds. Harry’s body began to shake as sobs convulsed through his body and she pulled him wordlessly toward her and allowed him to cling to her tightly. Hermione and Harry had been through many difficult and often dangerous times together, but she knew that a death of a mutual loved one could tear even the closest apart. She had seen it often in her time as an Order member. Families turned on themselves as mother’s blamed fathers for allowing their children to fight and fathers blamed mothers for the same reason.

Harry’s fingernails dug into her skin and she felt her flesh tear beneath his grip. Pain shot through her body, but she uttered no sound as he buried his face into her shoulder. Minerva rubbed small circles on his back, realizing with a start that she held him just as tightly. It was this revelation that made her draw back and clasp his hands in hers instead. Harry looked down and his eyes widened as he saw the blood that stained his fingertips.

“I’m sorry,” he said urgently, “I didn’t mean…”

Minerva shook her head, effectively silencing him. “Skin heals easily, Potter,” she said simply.

Emotional wounds on the other hand…

Her words hung unspoken in the air and she stepped back in an effort to dispel them.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Harry said hoarsely, “To lose everyone close to you…” A harsh, foreign laugh burst from his throat and Minerva suppressed a shudder. She’d heard another laugh almost exactly like that when Death Eaters had attacked a small restaurant where a small number of Order members were dining. Only she and Albus had escaped with their lives that night. As she had disapparated from the scene of devastation, she had heard the high-pitched laugh from behind a Death Eater mask. It still haunted her somnolence.

“I have to kill him, did you know that?” Harry continued, “It’s my ‘destiny’ to murder someone.” His voice cracked as he looked at her. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

Minerva merely stared at him. “It’s not hard,” she said eventually.

“What’s not?” Harry said sharply.

“Killing someone,” she whispered, “It’s the aftermath that’s difficult.”

Harry’s eyes widened as Minerva pushed past him and walked briskly down the corridor.

You said far too much… Fool woman!

Her own voice mocked her as she ducked into a small room and leant against the closed door. She could hear Harry’s footsteps echoing in the hall and paused in her breathing as he passed the room where she sat. As his footfalls diminished she exhaled deeply and rested her head against the wall. Her eyes were clenched tightly as she willed time to unfurl itself and allow her to rectify her slip of the tongue. She had never spoken of her childhood to anyone, and she had no intentions of starting now. Especially to an already traumatized 16-year-old boy.

Though he’s no child now…

She opened her eyes and rose to her feet in one fluid movement. Harry, it seemed, had disappeared to another region of the castle in search of her, leaving her time to return to her bedroom. She shook her head roughly; it was 1 o’clock in the morning. Any possible discussions with Harry could wait until later that day. Preferably when the sun had risen.

Her resolution reaffirmed, Minerva reached out and turned the door knob. Moonlight flooded the room as she opened the door and she stepped outside and closed it softly.

“What did you mean; ‘it’s not the killing that’s difficult?’”

Minerva jumped slightly at Harry’s voice. The boy stood, leaning against the wall, looking at her intently.

“It’s…nothing, Potter,” Minerva said hurriedly.

“Does that mean you’ve killed someone, Professor?” Harry continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “Who was it? Why’d you kill them? How old were you?”

Minerva held up her hand. Harry wasn’t the sort to let any matter lie, and it was easier to answer his questions rather than attempt to dissuade him. “I never found out his name, he had just murdered my father and I was 13,” she said answering each of his questions in sequential order.

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious…?”

He faltered as there was a loud banging at the door. Minerva withdrew her wand as she hurried past him and halted several feet in front of the door. A muttered incantation saw the door burst open and both Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody rushed inside. Moody glared at her, his magical eye drifting over her body, whilst his normal eye held her gaze. The two had never got along; he was if anything, a chauvinist, and had never liked that she was both more powerful and more intelligent than he.

“Can I help you, Alastor?” she said coldly.

She looked sideways and Remus shrugged his shoulders apologetically. Harry moved forward, flanking her like a body guard, and Moody glanced at him briefly before returning his attention to Minerva.

“We need you to look at something,” Moody said gruffly, stepping back to allow her to pass, “Boy, go back to your room. You shouldn’t hear this.”

Minerva’s jaw clenched at Moody’s patronizing tone, and she leapt to Harry’s defense before he had a chance to utter a word.

“Alastor, the boy has earned the right to know everything. Now can we proceed?”

Her eyes glittered dangerously as Moody’s darkened, but when he spoke, it was in affirmation.

“Alright, McGonagall. Lead the way.”

Minerva rolled her eyes, earning herself a smile from both Remus and Harry as she marched past them. Her gait was long as she walked down the corridor and entered the library. A flick of her wand caused flames to burst forth in the fire place, and she sat down in one of the armchairs and crossed her legs.

“What is it you want me to look at?” she said, retrieving her glasses from the small table in front of her and perching them on her nose.

Moody handed her a sheaf of parchments as he took sat down heavily in front of her. “There were three attacks tonight,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “There’s no apparent pattern, but we thought we’d get you to take a look anyway.”

“Were they simultaneous?” Minerva asked, thumbing through the parchment and withdrawing a small map, which had the locations of the attacks highlighted in red.

“Yes, all were at exactly midnight,” Remus interjected as he sat down next to Moody.

Minerva’s eyes skimmed over the map of the British Isles as Moody continued his narrative.

“There were attacks in England, Scotland and Ireland. Which doesn’t make sense.”

Minerva didn’t answer as she conjured a ruler and connected the villages. “Not particularly brilliant,” she whispered, “The Dark Lord has lost his touch.” She looked upward and found the three men looking at her intently.

“He’s going to attack Hogwarts,” she said simply.

“How’d you figure that?” Moody asked incredulously, leaning forward and peering at the map as if the answer would suddenly rise from the heavy parchment, “The attacks were nowhere near Hogwarts.”

Minerva flicked her wand again making red lines appear on the map. “Three locations. Kettering, Crieff and Dungarran,” she said, pointing to each of them in turn. As you can see Crief and Dungarran line up perfectly. Continue the line upward through Scotland and you’ll hit Hogwarts.”

“That doesn’t explain Kettering,” Moody interrupted, “Or are you just ignoring that?”

Minerva shook her head. “No. If we draw the line from Hogwarts and join up Kettering, then you have the pattern.”

Moody shot her a baleful look as she leant backward, and sunk into the soft leather of the armchair. “What? A triangle? How clever of you, McGonagall,” he said scathingly.

Minerva waved her wand, taking Moody’s sardonic tone in her stride, and moved the parchment upside-down. “Not a triangle, Alastor,” she said calmly, “A ‘V’. For ‘Voldemort’ I imagine.”

Remus whistled softly. “Nice one, Min,” he said, obviously impressed, “I’d never have seen that.”

Minerva flashed him a brief smile as she leant forward again. “Any towns, cities or villages along those lines need to be protected,” she said seriously. “He’s trying to make you run around like headless chickens.”

“So that’s London, West Bridgeford, Bradford, Dunoon, Carrickfergus, Belfast, Kilkenny and Hogwarts that need protecting,” Moody said gruffly, counting each of them off on his fingers as he studied the map, “And you’re sure, McGonagall?”

Minerva gave him a pointed look and Remus tried to suppress a giggle, but failed and was forced to disguise it badly with a cough.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Moody said, rising to his feet and clunking toward the door. “Well I need to go and inform the Order. Remus? Are you coming?”

Remus nodded grudgingly. “I suppose I should.” He leant over Minerva and gave her the customary kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Min.”

Minerva nodded as she sunk into the leather armchair, reveling in the way the cushion contoured to her slight frame. The front door closed with a resounding bang, leaving the castle in an eerie silence.

“Barty Crouch said in fourth year that even if the entire class hit him with ‘Avada Kedavra’, he wouldn’t get more than a nosebleed. So how come you could kill someone if you were only 13?”

Minerva kneaded her temples with one hand. It seemed that Harry was not about to let her childhood lie in her cerebral cenotaph where it belonged. She clenched her hand tightly, and felt her fingernails dig into her palm. The pain this action brought sent a jolt of release through her body, and with it came the ability to speak.

“As you would know, Potter,” she began slowly, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to look into Harry’s face, “It takes power to be able to perform any spell. The harder the spell becomes, the more power is necessary. Do you follow me?”

“Yes,” came Harry’s voice from in front of her.

“The more complex the spell, the more power is necessary. Emotion also plays a part. As you can imagine I was extremely emotional having just watched my father being killed. This can act as a catalyst, bringing one into a stage of ‘Absolute rage.’ That is what happened that night. I am quite powerful in my own right, but add the emotional aspect and my powers were enhanced.”

“How powerful are you?”

Minerva opened her eyes to find Harry leaning forward in the chair opposite her; his eyes fixated on her.

“Powerful enough,” she said wearily, squeezing her hand again, and wincing slightly as her nails pierced the skin. “My point is, Potter, that the killing curse is no trivial matter. It requires concentration, skill, and above all a degree of finesse. Mere wand wielding will not be enough. Even if you make the correct wand movement, and pronounce the incantation correctly, if there is not enough focus behind the curse, then the curse will not work.”

Harry’s eyes darkened. “I’ll have enough focus,” he said coldly.

Sheer fury radiated from him and Minerva shivered slightly, despite the room being relatively warm. “I don’t doubt it, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s eyes returned to their customary emerald as his surge of anger abated, and Minerva once again saw a glimpse of the shy teenager he might have been.

“It must be hard, living with the memories,” he said softly.

“Of what?”

“Seeing it happen. I was a baby, so I can’t remember much.”

Minerva shook her head sharply. “Oh well…it gets easier…” She faltered as Harry looked at her skeptically. “All right, that’s a lie…” She trailed off as she tried to put her tumultuous thoughts into a few simple words. “You move on, Potter,” she said finally, running her hand through her hair. “The memories are always there, and they’re never easy to examine, but I’ve moved forward and made a life for myself.”

She finished her sentence abruptly and clenched her jaw. The conversation was far more personal than she liked. If it was one thing that Minerva had learnt during her time at Hogwarts, was that masking her emotions enabled her to function on a day-to-basis. At night she could cast silencing charms around her bed and cry herself to sleep, or… She glanced down at her left arm where the sleeve had ridden up. The silver watch that Albus had bought her as a Christmas gift sat on her wrist, but the band couldn’t hide the two white scars that ran the length of her forearm.

Minerva was not inclined to do anything by halves, and it had been sheer luck that Albus had come looking for her in her 7th year, thus saving her life. He’d found her lying prone on the floor of the prefects bathroom in a pool of her own blood. Immediately he had summoned Fawkes, and the phoenix had donated his tears and healed the two wounds that ran the length of both the artery and the vein of her forearm. She’d awoken in the hospital wing to find him sitting by her bedside reading a book. They had never spoken of that day, but had reached an unspoken tacit agreement. Minerva had never again reached for a razor blade, and Albus had never divulged her secret.

His voice, ever authoritative, echoed in her head. You gave me quite a turn, Miss McGonagall…

“Did you always want to teach?”

Harry’s voice brought her back to the present, and she hurriedly pulled down her sleeve. “Yes and no. I was an Auror before I began teaching.”

“Why’d you quit?”

Minerva surveyed him overtop her square spectacles. “It’s not all fun and games, Potter. To be quite honest I became bored with the fact that because of my gender, I was forced to work twice as hard as any male, for the same type of operation, to ‘prove’ myself.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “But Tonks is an Auror…”

“I’m quite a bit older than Tonks,” she pointed out, a half-smile curving at her lips, “Feminism has come forward somewhat since I was recruited.”

Harry flushed slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but was overcome by a large yawn. Minerva rose to her feet and gestured for him to do the same.

“It’s late,” she said, steering him toward the door, “Any other questions can wait until you’ve slept.”

“But…”

“No arguments, Potter,” she said, as they reached the staircase.

He nodded once, realizing that she was in no mood for further protestations on his behalf.

“Goodnight, Professor,” he said, as she stepped onto the hall of the second floor.

“And to you, Mr. Potter.”

He gave her a brief smile as he continued his ascension up the stairs, and Minerva turned and walked down the corridor back to her own bedroom. She paused at the threshold, and steeled herself for the sight of Albus in her bed.

You gave me quite a turn, Miss McGonagall

Sighing deeply, she turned the handle.

--

Albus propped himself up on his elbows as Minerva entered her bedroom.

“Where did you disappear to?” he asked, arching his back, “I woke up and you were gone.”

Minerva sat down on the chair before her vanity, and pulled out the pins that restrained her hair as she answered. “I couldn’t sleep, then Moody and Remus came needing help over the latest ploy You-Know-Who is using.”

Albus nodded as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rose to his feet. He leaned over her shoulder and planted a kiss to the soft skin of her neck. Minerva’s body reacted of its own volition and a moan escaped from her lips as he continued his ministrations.

“Albus…” she whispered.

His hand traveled down her front undoing her blouse, seeking her skin. She shuddered as his fingers traced the rise and fall of her breasts and gently pushed him away.

“Not again,” she said firmly.

She looked ahead of her and saw her own reflection and Albus’ before her. His eyes had become haunted again, now they had lost the look of lust, and she felt her resolve softening.

It’s only for a few minutes…and the world needs Albus Dumbledore…

Albus could see her conflicting emotions and he pulled her upright and turned her face to his, blindly seeking her lips. Her body betrayed her and heat flooded through her veins as he pulled her blouse roughly over her head. He breathed her name as he tore her clothes from her.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted this,” he whispered into her ear, as he pushed her onto the bed. Her back collided heavily with the soft mattress as Albus straddled her, pressing himself against her, his lips connecting with hers once more. She knew that she should be pushing him away, but his need for physical contact was obvious.

“What do you want, Albus?” she asked pushing against his chest so he held himself above her.

“You.”

His words were so sincere, she felt herself wanting to believe them.

“All right, Albus,” she said, drawing him toward her, “One more time. Just one.”