(no subject)
Title: Love, Luck, Lust and Loss
Author: apostrophe_ess
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR, I merely gain from playing these games in her playground.
Pairing/Character: Minerva McGonagall (aged 21), talk of Kiely Goodwin and Jocelyn Stalk
Word Count: 3,528
Rating: R (but only near the end)
Summary: In Italy, on secondment from the British Ministry of Magic, life is a little different than Minerva is used to. A mix of relaxation and tension,she is getting used to spending days in the country on her own.
Beta: Many thanks to millieweasley for her help with getting this section together.
Author's Notes: A second story for millieweasley's history challenge **here**. If you fancy writing something historical involving our HP friends then there's still until the end of the month - plenty of time! Splendid icon for Love, Lust, Luck and Loss from the wonderful nimerha - Thank you!
Part One: here
Part Two: here
Part Three: here
Part Four: here
Part Five: here
Link to part seven
Part Six: Chapter Five - Alone
11th September 1946
The past week far from dragging after Kiely’s return to Britain as Minerva had expected it would, had passed by in a rush.
She had taken to breakfasting in the Courtyard of the building where she lived. By moving one of the stone tables and a bench and adding a privacy charm between two lemon trees, Minerva was able to watch the activities of the town square without being observed herself. Soon the weather would change and the vantage point lost, but for now she would make the most of it.
Breakfast tended to be quite different here to that she’d enjoyed back at home. In the European way she would slice fresh crusty bread made in the small town and partner it with either a sweet conserve made with local fruit, or slivers of local cheese and ham. Accompanied with a large wide cup of darkest coffee it was an enjoyable meal. Life in the square provided a colourful backdrop of entertainment as she ate. The children of the local families would sit together while their parents chatted furiously, their hand gestures only broken as they partook of their meal.
The magical town of Stegonia was sited within the bounds of a tributary of the River Po. One half of the town nestled in the crook beside a rushing waterfall whereas the other side of the town had a fortress style wall about it.
Beyond the wall was a palace, the Palazzo della Acqua, which had been targetted in the air raids of the recent Muggle World War. Apart from the loss of the building and its contents, which actually hadn’t been that much, the Ministry officials as well as the inhabitants of Stegonia had been overjoyed at the demolition of the Palazzo. No matter what charms had been put upon the Palazzo, and however often they were renewed or improved, they’d failed to stop Muggles from all over visiting. Now with the building in ruins, Stegonia was again freer of the worry of a Muggle child scaling its walls and breaching its security.
This morning’s breakfast in the square, which Minerva was getting used to calling the Piazza del Stegonia, passed uneventfully. She’d not definitely spotted Fenrir Greyback again, which was part of the reason for eating in the courtyard. Twice she’d thought she’d seen him out in the Piazza, but neither time had she been sure. The person who Kiely had spotted him talking to had flitted past most days at some point or another though. Even if Greyback was no longer here then it would be good to identify who that was.
Hopefully today Minerva would receive a return owl from Dora Concertare, the Capo di Magio Sinistro, of the Italian Ministry of Magic who she was expecting to meet with in a few days.
Unlike the Ministry of Magic at home, the Italian version seemed to be spread around the country. From what she’d learned instead of a vaulted complex with all the departments working in a well known place, the Italians were largely unaware of the location of particular departimento unless they needed to go there for some reason.
With just an hour until the post owls were due, the sun warm on her back, and the activity in the Piazza thinning out, studying at the table for a while was an attractive thought. The initial reading, reinforcing information she largely knew on becoming an Animagus, had whetted her appetite to get going. Becoming an Animagus was, in its way, a bit of a frustrating project. Right from the first days at Hogwarts, Transfiguration had been a practical subject. Even the very first task set by Professor Dumbledore in their very first week to transfigure a small black robe button into a tiny plant pot for the herbology greenhouses had been almost instant. She’d worked for a few minutes at the wand action and the incantation and then as soon as she funnelled her thoughts and synchronised the other two elements the magic happened. She had a perfect tiny little black plant pot. The smile that had crossed her face showed her triumph. It was such a good feeling. She’d never felt like that before, but knew more than anything else she knew at that time she wanted to feel it again, and again, and again. The wait between lessons always seemed so long and then annoyingly the lesson passed so quickly. It wasn’t until the years had passed and she was working on NEWT projects that the time allocated seemed anywhere near enough.
And now? Well now, as keen as she was to begin working, she couldn’t. Turning oneself into an animal wasn’t as simple as providing the greenhouses with plant pots while depleting the stock of tiny robe buttons. She didn’t even have any idea of what she would become, and at least some idea was just about essential to do it properly. The book explained the way it was possible to start to make an educated guess. Personality traits in the prospective animagus were often shared with those in the target animal. The author had picked an amusing example of a wizard who found his animagus as a magpie. In human form the wizard was known as a bit of a thief, never able to stop talking but rarely able to say anything interesting; his friends reported that he repeated himself over and over. A lover of food he was a right scavenger, willing to take bits of anything and everything that came into his sight - whoever’s plate it was on. Far from stupid as many who didn’t know him well thought, the wizard was an extremely intelligent person, who had, as he got older, become quite as eccentric in his human form as his animagus equals were known to be.
The final chapters of the book were cleverly placed in Minerva’s opinion. She was feeling the excited pull towards beginning practicing the transformation until she was reminded quite sternly on the legal penalties, not to mention the potential personal harm that one could come to. The unprepared witch or wizard transforming for the first time without proper supervision could find themselves as whatever animal, maybe a bird or a fox, for the rest of their lives, unable to returns themselves or alert anyone to what had happened.
It would be some time before she knew precisely what her animal would be, though it was likely she shared many characteristics with it. At some point she would follow the instructions in the book and explore her personality to identify the traits that would provide some clues, but not now. As much as she wanted to get started to properly explore her personality she needed someone else who knew her well and who was happy to help her. There was no-one in Italy who fitted that category. She’d probably have to return back to Scotland for that, which was probably the reason that she’d been assigned two supervisors, one here in Italy who she was still to meet, and one back home who she knew rather well already.
Thank goodness, she reflected as the very sound filtered in from the Piazza, that she’d never been termed a laughing hyena. Whoever was making all the noise might not want to attempt the transformation needed to find their animagus form! Almost giggling at the shrieking and manic laughter from the Piazza she nearly missed the arrival on an Owl until it flew close enough to her that she felt the tips of its wing feathers against her cheek before it landed on the table beside her. Immediately, ignoring her outstretched hand, it turned to peck at a piece of conserve covered bread. The parchment envelope, that it was so reluctant to give up while it ate, was fastened with green wax which had within it the impression of the seal of the Italian Ministry. If she was right then this was just what she was waiting for, a call to meet with Dora Concertare at her office. If only the bird would stop hopping around and let her remove it from its leg. When it finally did she petted the creature before it flew away, circled her two or three times in an upward spiral and then returned in the direction it had arrived from. If the office of the Capo di Magio Sinistro were in the direction the bird was taking then it was situated somewhere between south-east and east of where she was right now. The map that Kiely had given her was in her room, perhaps it would give her some clues. Pocketing the envelope as yet unopened, Minerva stood ready to collect her books and step inside her apartment. She’d read it in the privacy of her room, Alastor’s insistence on vigilance had obviously had more of an impact than she’d ever realised.
In the cooler air of her sitting room, Minerva carefully broke the seal in the green wax and removed a slip of parchment. It was exactly what she’d been expecting as far as she could tell with her broken Italian. She knew enough to understand that she was expected to arrive at Dora Concertare’s office in two days time for the meeting. The precise details were going to have to be translated carefully later. It would be fun to use the guide that Kiely had left for her. Perhaps she’d owl him and let him know.
How she’d missed him this week. His presence had so quickly and so easily become part of her life. The feel of his hand on hers, the pictures of his smile, even the memory of his concentrated expression when he’d done his utmost to resist the temptation between them for those weeks. The freshest memory was that of his small wave a split second before he Disapparated from her bedroom on the last day. It was impossible to feel sad at the thought; Kiely’s leaving had followed on from a significant occasion in her life. Of course she’d like him to be here with her now, to share those feelings again and of course she’d like to repeat and practice the amazing thing that they’d shared. But as much as she’d like him here she was savouring that one time. Savouring its significance to her, hopefully to both of them, and rejoicing in the symbolism. In time they would be together for always, Minerva knew that. When her task finished and she returned home then there’d be no-one else for her, ever again. Though she couldn’t honestly take his face gently in her hands, look him straight in the eye and tell him that she loved him with all her heart she would one day. Their love-making had sealed that within her. Minerva McGonagall would never love another as she was to love Kiely Goodwin. It was, she realised, the whole cause behind the reason she could wait.
Suddenly there was a shrill sound from the Piazza. Startled Minerva stood up and made her way towards the small window which overlooked the trees in the courtyard. It was most likely the children in the Piazza playing games. Yesterday one of the negoziante had stormed from behind the counter and out of the door and given a very strict lecture, complete with furious hand-movements, to a group of youngsters in what looked like an ad hoc Quidditch game chasing an enchanted lemon - just taken from his baskets beneath the sparkling glass window panes. She’d understood very little of the actual words but the message had been very clear. If it was the same youngsters again then they’d been really rather silly!
The commotion in the Piazza didn’t stop though, as it would have done had it been the young sportsman being chastised. In fact it seemed to become louder, as if more people were becoming involved. Without even thinking about it Minerva found herself in the Piazza where, by the time she got there, the distinct sounds of Disapparition could be heard. However many wizards or witches had recently left, Minerva had no idea, but something was telling her that this wasn’t the time to turn-tail and head back to her apartment, but to stay in the square and see if she could find out a little more about what had just taken place.
As she walked she caught sight of her reflection in the windows of the shops. Although broken by the many small and often haphazard panes and their thick wooden frames she could still see herself as others must. Not vain, but interested, she watched as she moved, straight and tall as if she was alert. One of her hands moved swiftly to her head when she realised that if she’d had short hair it would most likely be standing upon end. It was as if her scalp was prickling, aware of the tension in the air she could feel an almost electric charge. Perhaps it was being here, so far away form everyone she knew, but she couldn’t remember having ever noticed an air of danger before. Now though she definitely did. Real, distinct, palpable danger, almost every pore of her body could feel the buzz of it. The sun was shining, she could feel the heat on her body and yet somehow the Piazza felt chilled. “Pull yourself together Minerva McGonagall,” she chastised internally. “This just won’t do.”
For the last few minutes, and Minerva couldn’t say if it had been as few as two or as many as twenty, as she walked or stood in the Piazza she had been there alone. Now, gradually, others began to filter out into the heart of their town, the square. Most were chatting happily about the rest of their day ahead, others were speaking of the bounties of freshly picked and delicious fruits and vegetables in the grocery shops. There were those talking about their families and two older ladies who seemed to be having an argument about a robe, discounted in the sale at Bene Abbigliata that they both desperately wanted.
Her Italian wasn’t yet good enough to understand everything said about her, and annoyingly she needed so much concentration to even follow one such conversation that she missed much of others that in English she’d have heard and understood. If it hadn’t have been for the mundanity of the topics she’d have totally missed three old wizards standing in the shade of a knarled old tree whispering together. Softly Minerva walked closer towards them, her senses once more alerted by their stance and tones. Even close by it was difficult to understand much. One spoke in a distinct dialect, his accent much thicker than those she’d heard till now. They seemed to talk in almost a code, a sentence started and faltered but all three would nod in understanding. She picked out very few words at all, but one she did, alarmed her. It wasn’t the word itself, it wasn’t just the way that it was offered towards the others, it was the way they’d flinched, they way that the air chilled again. She’d not expected to hear that word said with such distaste and ill-feeling.
Since she’d first arrived in the small town ,Minerva had kept herself pretty much to herself, only gradually spending more time in the Piazza and not wanting to draw too much attention to herself. Her reason for being here was known to no-one but her and the Ministries, the letter she’d received today still sitting in her pocket made it clear that even she didn’t know the full extent of the task in front of her. All through the day her thoughts drifted back to the three Italians. Apart from herself there were only two other British people she was aware had been here. Kiely had spent two weeks in the town before returning to London and Fenrir Greyback who since the one sighting had apparently disappeared. Had he though? And more to the point, why had he been here to start with? Travel wasn’t easy in these times and she was pretty certain he’d not been here officially as she was. He didn’t work for the Ministry like she did; in fact she didn’t know what he did do. Fenrir Greyback, a few years younger than her, was more often seen in the dark end of Diagon Alley, close to the junction with Knockturn Alley than anywhere else. He’d not finished his education, leaving Hogwarts with no explanation when he was what - a second year? Or a third year when she was a sixth year? Sighing with frustration at herself Minerva wished she’d paid more attention at the time to what was being said. It was unusual for students to just leave the school and she’d made quite clear her disapproval at gossiping, thinking herself above such things. Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty in telling the others to put a halt to their mutterings, perhaps she’d have been better not offering to take house points or give detentions if she heard a single thing.
The change in the temperature of the evenings was marked now. The sticky heat of the first days when she and Kiely had arrived was a thing of the past. It was pleasant to bathe and slip into bed under the covers once more. The last two nights had been sleepless despite the more comfortable setting. The first night she’d taken parchment, quill and ink and written two very carefully worded owls. Firstly to Jocelyn, who would have forgotten more gossip than Minerva ever knew and who, if she understood the cryptic message in the owl, would hopefully fill her in on what Greyback was about these days. The second, to Kiely, had been a mistake. Everytime her quill touched the paper she relived the feel of his hand on her skin, the roughness of the hairs on his legs against the delicate skin on the insides of her thighs. She’d felt, almost as if he’d been there with her, the same sensation as when he’d so carefully slipped within her. Her body was cruel. The whole night she’d tossed and turned, trying desperately hard not to think about his mouth on her breast, his tongue on her nipple, his look of burning desire. The sun was rising behind the hills by the time she’d drifted into a fitful and all too short sleep and the following day had been spent feeling drained and more homesick than she’d ever imagined it possible to be.
Now on the very morning of her visit to Incantevole Sibillini to meet with Dora and someone else she was to work with in close contact for the following weeks and months she felt a wreck.
Last night had been little different. As tired as she’d been after the previous night’s hopeless quest for slumber, no sooner had she extinguished the light than her head had started buzzing. When she closed her eyes she could see him there, standing above her. His pale eyes, almost silver, shone towards her. His hair, longer than most and definitely long enough to be thoroughly disapproved of by her father, she’d felt brush against her cheek just as if he’d been there. With a gasp she’d sat up, taken her wand and relit the small light in the room. It had been harder to push her thoughts away last night than the night before, she’d found herself responding to his touch as if he was there, she’d arched her back, moaned softly, her own hands had taken the place of his body. She’d stroked herself until her body could resist no longer and with a shuddering release she’d fallen back against the mattress, her skin glistening with small beads of sweat.
Still she’d not slept. Still she’d tossed and turned. The act of release had done nothing to sooth her needs, her nerves. Yes, she could give herself an orgasm, it was probably one of the easiest things in the world, if she wanted one. Now she knew that it wasn’t what she’d wanted, what she’d wanted was to feel his weight press her into the mattress; she wanted to feel him possess her in that way as she lay beneath him, trusting him and entirely given to him. It wasn’t about sexual need she’d realised, it was about closeness and contact and belonging and she couldn’t do that for herself.
Waiting in the ante-room to the ufficio as her bacchetta magica was evaluated by a tiny wizard swathed in deep blue velvet robes Minerva willed herself to appear as Deon Crouch would want her to be. He’d not sent a tired, lacklustre, member of staff to represent the British Ministry of Magic, he’d sent one of his best staff. She just needed to hold herself together for a couple of hours and then somehow she would find the strength to overcome this difficult time.
“Signora McGonagall?” A deep, dark voice called as Minerva stood and turned towards it.
“Yes. I am Minerva McGongall.”
“Your wand Signora. Please follow me.”
Author: apostrophe_ess
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR, I merely gain from playing these games in her playground.
Pairing/Character: Minerva McGonagall (aged 21), talk of Kiely Goodwin and Jocelyn Stalk
Word Count: 3,528
Rating: R (but only near the end)
Summary: In Italy, on secondment from the British Ministry of Magic, life is a little different than Minerva is used to. A mix of relaxation and tension,she is getting used to spending days in the country on her own.
Beta: Many thanks to millieweasley for her help with getting this section together.
Author's Notes: A second story for millieweasley's history challenge **here**. If you fancy writing something historical involving our HP friends then there's still until the end of the month - plenty of time! Splendid icon for Love, Lust, Luck and Loss from the wonderful nimerha - Thank you!
Part One: here
Part Two: here
Part Three: here
Part Four: here
Part Five: here
Link to part seven
Part Six: Chapter Five - Alone
11th September 1946
The past week far from dragging after Kiely’s return to Britain as Minerva had expected it would, had passed by in a rush.
She had taken to breakfasting in the Courtyard of the building where she lived. By moving one of the stone tables and a bench and adding a privacy charm between two lemon trees, Minerva was able to watch the activities of the town square without being observed herself. Soon the weather would change and the vantage point lost, but for now she would make the most of it.
Breakfast tended to be quite different here to that she’d enjoyed back at home. In the European way she would slice fresh crusty bread made in the small town and partner it with either a sweet conserve made with local fruit, or slivers of local cheese and ham. Accompanied with a large wide cup of darkest coffee it was an enjoyable meal. Life in the square provided a colourful backdrop of entertainment as she ate. The children of the local families would sit together while their parents chatted furiously, their hand gestures only broken as they partook of their meal.
The magical town of Stegonia was sited within the bounds of a tributary of the River Po. One half of the town nestled in the crook beside a rushing waterfall whereas the other side of the town had a fortress style wall about it.
Beyond the wall was a palace, the Palazzo della Acqua, which had been targetted in the air raids of the recent Muggle World War. Apart from the loss of the building and its contents, which actually hadn’t been that much, the Ministry officials as well as the inhabitants of Stegonia had been overjoyed at the demolition of the Palazzo. No matter what charms had been put upon the Palazzo, and however often they were renewed or improved, they’d failed to stop Muggles from all over visiting. Now with the building in ruins, Stegonia was again freer of the worry of a Muggle child scaling its walls and breaching its security.
This morning’s breakfast in the square, which Minerva was getting used to calling the Piazza del Stegonia, passed uneventfully. She’d not definitely spotted Fenrir Greyback again, which was part of the reason for eating in the courtyard. Twice she’d thought she’d seen him out in the Piazza, but neither time had she been sure. The person who Kiely had spotted him talking to had flitted past most days at some point or another though. Even if Greyback was no longer here then it would be good to identify who that was.
Hopefully today Minerva would receive a return owl from Dora Concertare, the Capo di Magio Sinistro, of the Italian Ministry of Magic who she was expecting to meet with in a few days.
Unlike the Ministry of Magic at home, the Italian version seemed to be spread around the country. From what she’d learned instead of a vaulted complex with all the departments working in a well known place, the Italians were largely unaware of the location of particular departimento unless they needed to go there for some reason.
With just an hour until the post owls were due, the sun warm on her back, and the activity in the Piazza thinning out, studying at the table for a while was an attractive thought. The initial reading, reinforcing information she largely knew on becoming an Animagus, had whetted her appetite to get going. Becoming an Animagus was, in its way, a bit of a frustrating project. Right from the first days at Hogwarts, Transfiguration had been a practical subject. Even the very first task set by Professor Dumbledore in their very first week to transfigure a small black robe button into a tiny plant pot for the herbology greenhouses had been almost instant. She’d worked for a few minutes at the wand action and the incantation and then as soon as she funnelled her thoughts and synchronised the other two elements the magic happened. She had a perfect tiny little black plant pot. The smile that had crossed her face showed her triumph. It was such a good feeling. She’d never felt like that before, but knew more than anything else she knew at that time she wanted to feel it again, and again, and again. The wait between lessons always seemed so long and then annoyingly the lesson passed so quickly. It wasn’t until the years had passed and she was working on NEWT projects that the time allocated seemed anywhere near enough.
And now? Well now, as keen as she was to begin working, she couldn’t. Turning oneself into an animal wasn’t as simple as providing the greenhouses with plant pots while depleting the stock of tiny robe buttons. She didn’t even have any idea of what she would become, and at least some idea was just about essential to do it properly. The book explained the way it was possible to start to make an educated guess. Personality traits in the prospective animagus were often shared with those in the target animal. The author had picked an amusing example of a wizard who found his animagus as a magpie. In human form the wizard was known as a bit of a thief, never able to stop talking but rarely able to say anything interesting; his friends reported that he repeated himself over and over. A lover of food he was a right scavenger, willing to take bits of anything and everything that came into his sight - whoever’s plate it was on. Far from stupid as many who didn’t know him well thought, the wizard was an extremely intelligent person, who had, as he got older, become quite as eccentric in his human form as his animagus equals were known to be.
The final chapters of the book were cleverly placed in Minerva’s opinion. She was feeling the excited pull towards beginning practicing the transformation until she was reminded quite sternly on the legal penalties, not to mention the potential personal harm that one could come to. The unprepared witch or wizard transforming for the first time without proper supervision could find themselves as whatever animal, maybe a bird or a fox, for the rest of their lives, unable to returns themselves or alert anyone to what had happened.
It would be some time before she knew precisely what her animal would be, though it was likely she shared many characteristics with it. At some point she would follow the instructions in the book and explore her personality to identify the traits that would provide some clues, but not now. As much as she wanted to get started to properly explore her personality she needed someone else who knew her well and who was happy to help her. There was no-one in Italy who fitted that category. She’d probably have to return back to Scotland for that, which was probably the reason that she’d been assigned two supervisors, one here in Italy who she was still to meet, and one back home who she knew rather well already.
Thank goodness, she reflected as the very sound filtered in from the Piazza, that she’d never been termed a laughing hyena. Whoever was making all the noise might not want to attempt the transformation needed to find their animagus form! Almost giggling at the shrieking and manic laughter from the Piazza she nearly missed the arrival on an Owl until it flew close enough to her that she felt the tips of its wing feathers against her cheek before it landed on the table beside her. Immediately, ignoring her outstretched hand, it turned to peck at a piece of conserve covered bread. The parchment envelope, that it was so reluctant to give up while it ate, was fastened with green wax which had within it the impression of the seal of the Italian Ministry. If she was right then this was just what she was waiting for, a call to meet with Dora Concertare at her office. If only the bird would stop hopping around and let her remove it from its leg. When it finally did she petted the creature before it flew away, circled her two or three times in an upward spiral and then returned in the direction it had arrived from. If the office of the Capo di Magio Sinistro were in the direction the bird was taking then it was situated somewhere between south-east and east of where she was right now. The map that Kiely had given her was in her room, perhaps it would give her some clues. Pocketing the envelope as yet unopened, Minerva stood ready to collect her books and step inside her apartment. She’d read it in the privacy of her room, Alastor’s insistence on vigilance had obviously had more of an impact than she’d ever realised.
In the cooler air of her sitting room, Minerva carefully broke the seal in the green wax and removed a slip of parchment. It was exactly what she’d been expecting as far as she could tell with her broken Italian. She knew enough to understand that she was expected to arrive at Dora Concertare’s office in two days time for the meeting. The precise details were going to have to be translated carefully later. It would be fun to use the guide that Kiely had left for her. Perhaps she’d owl him and let him know.
How she’d missed him this week. His presence had so quickly and so easily become part of her life. The feel of his hand on hers, the pictures of his smile, even the memory of his concentrated expression when he’d done his utmost to resist the temptation between them for those weeks. The freshest memory was that of his small wave a split second before he Disapparated from her bedroom on the last day. It was impossible to feel sad at the thought; Kiely’s leaving had followed on from a significant occasion in her life. Of course she’d like him to be here with her now, to share those feelings again and of course she’d like to repeat and practice the amazing thing that they’d shared. But as much as she’d like him here she was savouring that one time. Savouring its significance to her, hopefully to both of them, and rejoicing in the symbolism. In time they would be together for always, Minerva knew that. When her task finished and she returned home then there’d be no-one else for her, ever again. Though she couldn’t honestly take his face gently in her hands, look him straight in the eye and tell him that she loved him with all her heart she would one day. Their love-making had sealed that within her. Minerva McGonagall would never love another as she was to love Kiely Goodwin. It was, she realised, the whole cause behind the reason she could wait.
Suddenly there was a shrill sound from the Piazza. Startled Minerva stood up and made her way towards the small window which overlooked the trees in the courtyard. It was most likely the children in the Piazza playing games. Yesterday one of the negoziante had stormed from behind the counter and out of the door and given a very strict lecture, complete with furious hand-movements, to a group of youngsters in what looked like an ad hoc Quidditch game chasing an enchanted lemon - just taken from his baskets beneath the sparkling glass window panes. She’d understood very little of the actual words but the message had been very clear. If it was the same youngsters again then they’d been really rather silly!
The commotion in the Piazza didn’t stop though, as it would have done had it been the young sportsman being chastised. In fact it seemed to become louder, as if more people were becoming involved. Without even thinking about it Minerva found herself in the Piazza where, by the time she got there, the distinct sounds of Disapparition could be heard. However many wizards or witches had recently left, Minerva had no idea, but something was telling her that this wasn’t the time to turn-tail and head back to her apartment, but to stay in the square and see if she could find out a little more about what had just taken place.
As she walked she caught sight of her reflection in the windows of the shops. Although broken by the many small and often haphazard panes and their thick wooden frames she could still see herself as others must. Not vain, but interested, she watched as she moved, straight and tall as if she was alert. One of her hands moved swiftly to her head when she realised that if she’d had short hair it would most likely be standing upon end. It was as if her scalp was prickling, aware of the tension in the air she could feel an almost electric charge. Perhaps it was being here, so far away form everyone she knew, but she couldn’t remember having ever noticed an air of danger before. Now though she definitely did. Real, distinct, palpable danger, almost every pore of her body could feel the buzz of it. The sun was shining, she could feel the heat on her body and yet somehow the Piazza felt chilled. “Pull yourself together Minerva McGonagall,” she chastised internally. “This just won’t do.”
For the last few minutes, and Minerva couldn’t say if it had been as few as two or as many as twenty, as she walked or stood in the Piazza she had been there alone. Now, gradually, others began to filter out into the heart of their town, the square. Most were chatting happily about the rest of their day ahead, others were speaking of the bounties of freshly picked and delicious fruits and vegetables in the grocery shops. There were those talking about their families and two older ladies who seemed to be having an argument about a robe, discounted in the sale at Bene Abbigliata that they both desperately wanted.
Her Italian wasn’t yet good enough to understand everything said about her, and annoyingly she needed so much concentration to even follow one such conversation that she missed much of others that in English she’d have heard and understood. If it hadn’t have been for the mundanity of the topics she’d have totally missed three old wizards standing in the shade of a knarled old tree whispering together. Softly Minerva walked closer towards them, her senses once more alerted by their stance and tones. Even close by it was difficult to understand much. One spoke in a distinct dialect, his accent much thicker than those she’d heard till now. They seemed to talk in almost a code, a sentence started and faltered but all three would nod in understanding. She picked out very few words at all, but one she did, alarmed her. It wasn’t the word itself, it wasn’t just the way that it was offered towards the others, it was the way they’d flinched, they way that the air chilled again. She’d not expected to hear that word said with such distaste and ill-feeling.
Since she’d first arrived in the small town ,Minerva had kept herself pretty much to herself, only gradually spending more time in the Piazza and not wanting to draw too much attention to herself. Her reason for being here was known to no-one but her and the Ministries, the letter she’d received today still sitting in her pocket made it clear that even she didn’t know the full extent of the task in front of her. All through the day her thoughts drifted back to the three Italians. Apart from herself there were only two other British people she was aware had been here. Kiely had spent two weeks in the town before returning to London and Fenrir Greyback who since the one sighting had apparently disappeared. Had he though? And more to the point, why had he been here to start with? Travel wasn’t easy in these times and she was pretty certain he’d not been here officially as she was. He didn’t work for the Ministry like she did; in fact she didn’t know what he did do. Fenrir Greyback, a few years younger than her, was more often seen in the dark end of Diagon Alley, close to the junction with Knockturn Alley than anywhere else. He’d not finished his education, leaving Hogwarts with no explanation when he was what - a second year? Or a third year when she was a sixth year? Sighing with frustration at herself Minerva wished she’d paid more attention at the time to what was being said. It was unusual for students to just leave the school and she’d made quite clear her disapproval at gossiping, thinking herself above such things. Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty in telling the others to put a halt to their mutterings, perhaps she’d have been better not offering to take house points or give detentions if she heard a single thing.
The change in the temperature of the evenings was marked now. The sticky heat of the first days when she and Kiely had arrived was a thing of the past. It was pleasant to bathe and slip into bed under the covers once more. The last two nights had been sleepless despite the more comfortable setting. The first night she’d taken parchment, quill and ink and written two very carefully worded owls. Firstly to Jocelyn, who would have forgotten more gossip than Minerva ever knew and who, if she understood the cryptic message in the owl, would hopefully fill her in on what Greyback was about these days. The second, to Kiely, had been a mistake. Everytime her quill touched the paper she relived the feel of his hand on her skin, the roughness of the hairs on his legs against the delicate skin on the insides of her thighs. She’d felt, almost as if he’d been there with her, the same sensation as when he’d so carefully slipped within her. Her body was cruel. The whole night she’d tossed and turned, trying desperately hard not to think about his mouth on her breast, his tongue on her nipple, his look of burning desire. The sun was rising behind the hills by the time she’d drifted into a fitful and all too short sleep and the following day had been spent feeling drained and more homesick than she’d ever imagined it possible to be.
Now on the very morning of her visit to Incantevole Sibillini to meet with Dora and someone else she was to work with in close contact for the following weeks and months she felt a wreck.
Last night had been little different. As tired as she’d been after the previous night’s hopeless quest for slumber, no sooner had she extinguished the light than her head had started buzzing. When she closed her eyes she could see him there, standing above her. His pale eyes, almost silver, shone towards her. His hair, longer than most and definitely long enough to be thoroughly disapproved of by her father, she’d felt brush against her cheek just as if he’d been there. With a gasp she’d sat up, taken her wand and relit the small light in the room. It had been harder to push her thoughts away last night than the night before, she’d found herself responding to his touch as if he was there, she’d arched her back, moaned softly, her own hands had taken the place of his body. She’d stroked herself until her body could resist no longer and with a shuddering release she’d fallen back against the mattress, her skin glistening with small beads of sweat.
Still she’d not slept. Still she’d tossed and turned. The act of release had done nothing to sooth her needs, her nerves. Yes, she could give herself an orgasm, it was probably one of the easiest things in the world, if she wanted one. Now she knew that it wasn’t what she’d wanted, what she’d wanted was to feel his weight press her into the mattress; she wanted to feel him possess her in that way as she lay beneath him, trusting him and entirely given to him. It wasn’t about sexual need she’d realised, it was about closeness and contact and belonging and she couldn’t do that for herself.
Waiting in the ante-room to the ufficio as her bacchetta magica was evaluated by a tiny wizard swathed in deep blue velvet robes Minerva willed herself to appear as Deon Crouch would want her to be. He’d not sent a tired, lacklustre, member of staff to represent the British Ministry of Magic, he’d sent one of his best staff. She just needed to hold herself together for a couple of hours and then somehow she would find the strength to overcome this difficult time.
“Signora McGonagall?” A deep, dark voice called as Minerva stood and turned towards it.
“Yes. I am Minerva McGongall.”
“Your wand Signora. Please follow me.”