Lady Minerva

As Minerva grows accustomed to their new surroundings, Alecto allows herself a moment to simply relish the way she feels now. The voices have all but subsided, her hands are perfectly still, and it finally feels like Alecto can breathe again. The knowledge of this alone causes a slight grin to curl at the corners of her lips, but it is the sight of Minerva McGonagall attempting to regain her composure is enough to make that grin turn into something much bigger, and far more wicked.

“Yes, Professor?” With a bat of her eyes and her voice dripping with sugar, Alecto cocks her head to the side a little. Truth be told, the girl had absolutely zero interest in her old teacher’s words, nor did she care to have this interaction last any longer than was absolutely necessary. But Alecto did like to humour her prey before she ripped them apart, and Minerva was already proving to be such a delicious catch. “And so, the martyr attack continues. Honestly, Professor, be honest with yourself; you just enjoy watching the students who made your life hell burn. There is no concern for you, only joy at seeing someone you despise in pain.”

Despite Alecto’s words, she continues grinning, finding the entire situation to be a joke. She doesn’t care for what Minerva has to say, isn’t interested by the idea that someone might care for her. But Minerva’s next words hit a nerve, and suddenly the game is over before it has even begun. 

The professor’s jaw clenches as her wrist flicks outward, sending up a wordless protego to easily deflect Alecto’s attack. “If I was pretending, Miss Carrow, would I remain standing here when it would be far easier to be far away from you and your machinations?”

With carefully footsteps, Minerva moves forward as she continues to speak, making certain she’s heard across the distance between them. “I have no interest in seeing students come to harm. I do not wish to see anyone in pain, you or any other person. Perhaps it will be my undoing one day, caring as I do when others would tell me to be more cautious, but I refuse to believe nothing good can come from caring for another person.

Moving to join Minerva, Mary is quick to turn on the kettle, her gaze seeking out her newest addition as she does so. Finally, she finds her little bundle of fur, curled up on one of the kitchen chairs, and Mary is quick to scoop him up, greatly appreciating the comfort that comes with holding her kitten. “It seems odd to me, that I shall not be getting on the train this September.” Chuckling, Mary ruffles Tobias under his collar, before placing the kitten back down as the kettle comes to the boil.

“Work? Work is fine; a few more difficult patients have appeared recently, but I’m learning more by the day so who can complain, really?” Forcing a smile, Mary moved to pour the kettle, filling each mug before grabbing a spoon from the drawer and giving each drink a quick stir. “Are you looking forward to going back?”

“I always look forward to it and also dread it.” The grin she offers Mary speaks of the dichotomous nature that amuses her to no end. “Students such as you were make my profession a great joy but even if James Potter and friends have left the castle, other energetic ruffians will always take their place and challenge my patience.”

Minerva doesn’t add that the burgeoning darkness of war adds a new layer of dread to her usually mild reservations about greeting students and embracing the tedium of being a Hogwarts professor. It goes without saying and there’s no need to sully their time together by touching on such a delicate and painful subject. Instead, Minerva takes her own teacup in hand, dripping a spoonful of honey into it before giving it a careful sip. Her green gaze gentle on Mary.

“I’m happy to hear that you are learning in your chosen career, but no doubt it comes with its own challenges. And not just from testy patients being uncooperative.” As she sets the cup down, she adds, “Don’t forget to make time for yourself, Mary. Being a healer comes with so many demands and it can easily wear you down. A new kitten to share your home with is a good start but don’t close yourself off in pursuit of your profession, dear.”

Yet she does it. Enjoys it. Feels a heady thrill at touching lips with Alastor once more to share in a drink of liquor that burns just right as it rolls down into her stomach. Minerva had just meant to reach out and wipe away the escaping whisky at the corner of her mouth when Alastor sweeps in to solve the problem in his own way.

As he walks beside her he takes her hand with a natural ease. His fingers slide between hers. The differences between them are never more apparent than when he holds her hand. His large and rough, hers small and slender. Long though. Every part of her seemed long and drawn out. He did rather love the feeling of her long legs wrapped around his waist. The muscles in her body had always astounded him. For such a small thing she was powerful with and without a wand.

Even if the man responsible held disagreeable secrets impacting the lives of others.

Minerva attempts to remind herself of all this but the moment she feels him tug against her pace, meaning to dictate her actions in favour of himself, those reasonable assertions go up in smoke. With alarming reflexes, the woman uses the inertia in being pulled toward him to turn on her heel and let an open palm connect with the side of Alastor’s face. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes through the valley as Minerva stands before the man with a glare.

It’s on at the forefront of Minerva’s thoughts now as she eyes the boy beside her with his mouth full of whisky she’d requested. Her gaze narrows, carefully considering the masterful predicament Alastor has put her in.

A small sigh escapes her, a slight shake of her head. Leave it to the Ravenclaw to put her in a position to take a kiss in order to have the drink she craves. But Minerva cannot deny that she craves another encounter with those lips of his as well. Which one she craves more she can’t say. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Minerva leans forward to reunite her lips to his, a chaste precursor that dissolves just as swiftly when her tongue curls out to open her mouth and force his own open as well. To taste the elixir, usher it into her own mouth from his. To steal the burn of the alcohol for herself.

More fool her.

Her hand is wrapped tightly around her wand before she has even stepped closer to Minerva, and when Alecto brushes her lips against the elder woman’s ear to speak her wand is jabbed into the ex-Gryffindor’s stomach, a large smirk curling at Alecto’s lips. 

“Then let us meet wand to wand.”

The malicious intent in the redhead’s voice is undeniable, and with the skill of someone who has been practicing such a move for years, Alecto pushes her wand past Minerva, aiming it at the young woman, who had made the mistake of walking that little bit too close to the two witches, though still far away that they would not be blamed. With a hiss of ‘avada kedavra’ the woman has crumpled to the floor, and in that same second Alecto has forcefully pulled Minerva towards a shrouded area of the park by the elder woman’s frail wrist, and apparated them away to Burnham Beeches; a relatively shrouded forest and a personal favourite of Alecto’s.

Every muscle in Minerva coils tight at the challenge Alecto makes, her own fingers stroking toward her own wand. Yet it doesn’t do her good to move slowly, assuming that quick motions would instigate worse actions in the virulent young woman.

The flash of green in the older woman’s perifery imprints a negative smudge on the edge of her gaze. While the cry of the woman dropped by the spell rings in Minerva’s ears. Her body feels torn between impulses; rush to the woman’s side or confront Alecto with the fire of fury that blossoms in her chest at the girl’s audacity. Neither happens as her body presses, yanked into apparating without her permission. The disorientation whips Minerva’s emotions into a frenzy.

“Alecto!” Minerva snaps the moment they both halt in a clearing, unfamiliar to the professor’s gaze. Her hands rest on her thighs as she regains her composure but green eyes blaze above a sloped nose. “What I started was not a confrontation meant to harm. I initiated a conversation out of genuine concern for a young woman, a former student, who seemed troubled. Nothing more. That woman did not need to suffer unnecessarily for your mood or my interjection.”

He had spread his back-to-school shopping across several days as August waned. A late return to Grimmauld Place could easily be excused by claiming late-minute disasters at the Ministry. He had taken advantage of his last Saturday at home to do just that, stopping in to run some extra errands for Mister Bones in the morning and then retiring to the cozy corners of Diagon Alley. He now sat at a table in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, the hot mug of peppermint tea in his hand a welcomed substitute for alcohol. Strapped to his back was his sole purchase of the day, and a prized one at that: A brand new, golden-handled, freshly polished Nimbus 1001.

His face all but buried in the documentation for his new broomstick, he hadn’t seen Professor McGonagall until she was standing right beside him. The surprise made him flinch, and he gaped up at her, wide-eyed.

“Uh… Yes, of course! I mean – No. No I don’t care. Please.”

Regulus is still her student though, while the elder Black isn’t and she focuses on the Slytherin’s company now.

“A new Nimbus, I see?” Her fingers pluck up one of the slips of documentation and scan it, digesting the facts and figures that make the latest model superior to its predecessors. It had been such a long time since she’d known the inherent capabilities of any broom on the market; the speed they could achieve to rake her hair back. The swiftness with which it could respond to the slightest angle and swing into hairpin turns that took her breath away. The exhilaration is always sorely missed but she appreciates the sport of it and enjoys seeing other young flyers develop in their passion.

“Perfectly.” There’s a clip to her tone which could easily be chalked up to the disturbance while shifting from one place to another. She follows up by insisting, “I always land on my feet.”

His fingers brush through her hair almost absent-mindedly. He curls the strands around his hand and lets them fall. He pushes his fingers through the mass and lets them slide free. The softness of her hair fascinates him and he can’t be entirely sure why but he’s certain nothing else will ever hold his attention the way she does.

He studies her face for the longest time. As though he’s to be examined on it later. If he is then he will no doubt pass with flying colours. He could not imagine a topic he is better versed in than Minerva McGonagall. It makes him wonder where this path will lead them. He cannot imagine his life without her but she has never seemed the type to settle down. Though it’s not something he particularly looks forward to himself. As many sixteen year old boys don’t. However, he is nothing if not painfully aware of the duties inherent in his birth. The Moody line continues with himself and his brother. It is strange to think of when kissing a girl for the first time but it is difficult not to think of everything at once when he has taken himself so by surprise.

It should feel unnerving to have Alastor’s gaze so intent upon her. In some part of her mind, Minerva tells herself that very thing but she’s known the weight of the boy’s gaze long before now; whether he was glaring at her for winning the race to the top of the lane or staring at her while she studied intently, hoping to break her concentration with sheer force of will. The weight of this gaze penetrates her in an entirely different way but not one unwelcome or unwanted. She can’t explain why it would be something she readily accepts, yet the fact remains.

In the gleam of the clear night sky Minerva finds herself mapping the contours of Alastor’s face. The jut of his brow over intense eyes. The slope of a nose she could never forget. It suits him. And what’s more, the sweep of his lips beneath it compliment his jawline. They complimented her lips when they were locked.

“I’d say your desperation is unbecoming of ye.” She attempts to admonish despite how evident it is that her heart isn’t in it. Prompting her to add, “But even I cannae make m’self believe such a thing.”

He gave her a nod. He didn’t need to tell her anything about the portkey. They’d used it before. Each portkey led to a place outside the Moody Estate. In the event the old wards were breached, they wouldn’t end up in the middle of it all. This one specifically would bring them to a ring of stones on a hill a short walk from the front gates. They were both fit enough to enjoy the walk to the castle.

“Together.” She affords him this. As always, no matter what her disagreement may be with him, Minerva wouldn’t head off for a brief holiday with any man. Certainly not on such short notice and so near to the beginning of term. Alastor always became the exception to every meticulous rule Minerva fashioned for her life. And even in this, she would move forward with their plans despite her growing consternation over what she so recently learnt of him. More to the point, what she had to learn from the poor girl forced into the predicament, rather than the man responsible for orchestrating it.

He stood as she entered the room. A gruff Highlander he may be to the casual passerby, but he was a gentleman through and through. To stay seated as a woman entered the room in his youth would have presented him with a clipped ear. He found though, in regards to the woman in question at least, it no longer felt like a chore.

It’s not that she’s furious. Irate would be a better word. Disgruntled, though that particular word leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Minerva knows Alastor has always held a mild dose of suspicion toward Albus. But the man also taught them both in their youth, welcomed her when she first took up the job after abandoning her first efforts in a line of work. These days, he was often a source of sage advice and odd sweets. Minerva never thought to question Dumbledore’s intentions, even on the occasions he seemed to be intentionally obtuse on certain subjects. The rare occasions Alastor had attempted to voice his contrary view of the man, Minerva had shut down the discussion promptly.

She hadn’t thought he’d find an alternative route to fulfill the need for information.

Amelia took a deep breath, realizing she wasn’t explaining very well as of yet. She shook her head and plucked the whistling tea kettle from the stove, setting it on a trivet to steep and moving to sit across from Minerva. 

“If there’s one thing I know about Albus Dumbledore, it’s that he likely saw that Alastor would one day decide he needed to monitor the Headmaster.” Not that anyone has ever been able to determine how it is that Dumbledore knows the things that he does, it’s a fact that the man rarely misses anything. “If he has yet to interfere with Alastor’s intentions, then it’s safe to say he doesn’t mind should you choose to take up the--mission of sorts. However, I don’t think there’s much to be gained by it. Albus is a busy complex man and shrewd enough to circumvent even your superb intelligence gathering talents.”

“Why do people like you always have to play the hero?” There was a clear bitterness to her tone as Alecto finally caught and held the gaze of Minerva, nothing but contempt in her expression. “This need to always come out the martyr will kill you; I can’t wait.” Alecto was rising to her feet now, forcibly smacking Minerva’s hand away from her as she did so. 

“Are you offering yourself to me?” Taking a step towards the elder woman, Alecto allowed a smirk to cur at her lips, the menace that had settled in her eyes unmissable. “I don’t see how else you could be of use to me, so is that it, Professor? Are you offering yourself up as my next victim?”

Minerva schools her features with aplomb, keeping the frustration out of her gaze and withholding the sigh that threatens as Alecto attempts to goad her into departing or push the confrontation. “I do not aim to be a hero or a martyr, that would imply that I believe myself capable of truly helping you or am fond of putting myself in harm’s way on principle alone.”

The older woman holds her ground when Alecto steps into her personal space just that much further as she continues, “I am trying to help as one human being would care about the well-being of another and I do not wish to see others come to harm, just as I care that you not come to harm because of yourself.