A New Leaf (Part 2)
Title: A New Leaf
Author: MinervaFan
Rating: R
A/N: Written for Lilith Morgana
Summary: A devastating war ends with a crippling attack on the town of Hogsmeade. With refugees streaming into Hogwarts, a frightened Muggle woman lies silent, caught up in the chaos of the wizarding world and her own role in its near destruction. With Dumbledore gone, and Hogwarts on the verge of collapse, can Minerva McGonagall bring it all back together?
It was odd how things turned out. For instance, Petunia Dursley had no doubt spent a great deal of her husband's money on clothes and hair, fancy frocks and elaborate hairstyles that took hours to perfect.
But as she sat in the chair near her bed, looking out onto the snowy grounds, she seemed to Minerva to be younger and prettier than she'd ever been. Her hair had been brushed by one of the aides, and she wore borrowed robes of a deep blue color. There was barely any expression on her face at all, just high cheekbones, pronounced jaw, and somber eyes staring forward as she watched the thoughts only her eyes could see.
Maybe it was all those evenings she'd spent with her, reading quietly in her sitting room, that made Minerva notice the trembling of Petunia Dursley's hands as she gripped the chair. Maybe it was the memory of how she'd begun to smile once and again, while staying in her rooms, that made Minerva aware of the profound sadness in that face.
Maybe it was her own loneliness. Quiet though she was, Petunia Dursley had been a lovely houseguest, and Minerva had gotten quite used to the peaceful companionship she provided. To the simple discussion of books and crafts, of Minerva's painting and Petunia's sewing, of places they'd been and music they enjoyed. She'd been so quietly fixed into the back of Minerva's chaotic life that the loss of her presence had been a surprising blow.
And now guilt mixed with the loneliness she felt as she hovered at the edge of hospital wing. Harry would be here in the morning, and hopefully Dr. Massengale's plan would work. But what then? She worried for Petunia. It seemed an odd thing, to worry about a woman who had so terribly neglected and abused a child, but she did. Worried because, without her husband and son, Petunia did not seem so much the horrible creature she'd been when they dropped Harry on her doorstep almost twenty years before. Perhaps she'd been broken by Malfoy's treatment of her in his dungeon. Or maybe that had never been her at all, just a mask she wore to fit into her Muggle reality.
"You'll make yourself sick if you worry any more." Poppy Pomfrey stood behind Minerva, her soft voice just in her left ear. Minerva wondered how long she'd been standing there.
"I was just going back to my rooms. I wanted to…"
"Check on her. Make sure she's all right." Pomfrey lifted her eyebrows. "Same thing you've said every night since we brought her in here."
Minerva rubbed her eyes. "I know, I know. But I feel--"
"Responsible?" Poppy seemed to spit the word out. "Don't you dare, Minerva McGonagall. You did not do this to her, and you were not responsible for what happened last week in your quarters."
"I should have known something was wrong…"
"We've discussed this already. Look, you can't fix everything. You can't stop bad things from happening." Pomfrey's arms were folded across her chest. "You can't be--"
"Dumbledore?" Minerva barely spoke the name, but it hit with the force of a hurricane. "I can't be Dumbledore. I can't just walk into a room and fix the situation."
"Minerva…"
But the stress of the last few months was having its toll on Minerva, and she continued without missing a beat. "I can't find miracles around every corner, Poppy. I have bills that are overdue, and tuition is down, and I don't know how we'll get teachers for next term when we can barely fill the classrooms, and then I have Petunia wanting to die and I can't help her and I--"
She spoke the last words into Poppy's waiting embrace, and it all seemed to come out in one big burst. Her anger, her frustration, her fears. She let Pomfrey lead her into the private office, where she collapsed into a chair, her head pounding and heart racing.
Poppy said nothing, just went to her desk and pulled out a bottle of fire whiskey. She poured a small amount into a glass and handed it to Minerva. "For medicinal purposes," she said.
Minerva let out a weak chuckle, and downed the contents in one gulp. It burned like hell, but that was good, somehow. She could feel it tracing a path down her throat and into her chest, where it spread quickly throughout her body. With a soft groan, she said, "I'm so sorry, Poppy."
"Nonsense, don't know why you didn't go off on someone sooner. It's long overdue." Pomfrey recapped the bottle and put it back into her desk before sitting down in her own chair. "Now, first of all, are you calmer now?"
Minerva nodded, embarrassed by her own emotional outburst.
"Good, now, let's address some things here. Bills will be paid when they get paid. That's how this school is run."
"But it's never been this--"
"Yes, it has, Minerva McGonagall, and you know it. We've always run on a tight budget here, as you'd know from your years as deputy, that is, if your brain were functioning properly. As for teachers. You have all the teachers you need…"
"Running themselves ragged, teaching double loads, without a pay increase since the war began…"
"And we're still here, Headmistress." Pomfrey's words were emphasized by her knuckles rapping on the wooden desktop. "We're still here, and here is where we'll stay. Hogwarts is the only home most of us have had for decades." Her expression softened as she caught Minerva's eyes. "We're not going to abandon her because of a pay raise."
"Thank you," Minerva whispered.
"And as for students…just hang on. The parents will come around. Hogwarts is the finest school of its kind in Britain, perhaps in the world. They'll come back, Minerva, I know it."
"How much of that reputation was Hogwarts, and how much of it Dumbledore?" Minerva's eyes did not meet those of her friend. "Poppy, I can't do what he did. I try, and I just can't. I think to myself everyday, Albus would have had an answer to this. Albus would have had a solution. But I can't do it, no matter how hard I try." She shook her head. "I don't know if Hogwarts can survive without Dumbledore, Poppy. And I can't be Dumbledore."
"And you shouldn't try. I've been watching you these past few months, and I see you struggling with it. You're trying to run this school like Dumbledore would have, and it's killing you."
"Don't be dramatic."
But Pomfrey was not going to be swayed. "Dumbledore chose you as his successor for a reason. He knew you could handle this place, and all the chaos with it, in your own way. He never wanted you to become a female version of him." She stood, crossing the distance between them to take Minerva's hands in hers. "You can't be the next Dumbledore, Minerva. You have to be the next McGonagall. And I assure you, Headmistress McGonagall can keep Hogwarts alive and thriving. I know that. Albus knew it, too." She lifted Minerva's chin so the woman was looking straight into her eyes. "Now the only thing left, Minerva McGonagall, is for you to know it."
***
"I'm not feeling up to a walk," Petunia muttered as she shuffled nonetheless down the corridor between Minerva and Dr. Massengale. She wore the Muggle dress Rachel had brought from a nearby village, and her hair had been swept up into a French twist by one of the local girls. Rachel had insisted she put on makeup and get herself looking her best.
They hadn't told her about Harry. She seemed to pull away from any discussion of her past, more so since the jump. It was drastic, surprising her like this, and both Minerva and Rachel felt the strain of the moments passing as they walked towards the Room of Requirement with their patient in tow.
The hallways were clear, with most of the students and faculty off to the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term. It seemed odd to be sending them, but Rosmerta had insisted and Sprout agreed. A sense of normalcy was the best thing for the children, and she'd even asked Sprout to bring her a few items back from the newly restored Honeydukes.
But Petunia knew nothing of the joys of browsing through Honeydukes, or sipping gillywater in the back room of the Three Broomsticks while friends laughed and gossiped all about you. Minerva held back a nostalgic sigh of regret as they neared the door to the Room of Requirement. There would be visits to Hogsmeade later, she reminded herself.
"You have a visitor, Petunia," Rachel said as she opened the door. "We didn't want to get your hopes up, but we thought you might prefer to visit in private."
There was a loud gasp as Petunia looked through the doorframe into the room. It was amazing, even to Minerva, who'd been expecting it. The room seemed an exact replica of a 1960s Muggle living room, with an overstuffed faded sofa, an enormous television in a polished wooden case. Pictures scattered about every flat surface, framed in silver and mahogany, of two young girls smiling and laughing in sepia-toned stillness. Minerva stepped quietly into the room behind Petunia and Rachel, her eyes catching on one picture of two girls, a tall brunette and a shorter redhead, weaving chains of picked daisies on a hillside. They couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old, yet they seemed so serious in their tasks.
"Dear god," Petunia whispered as she sank into the large cream-colored couch. "Dear god in heaven."
"Did we get it right?" It was Harry, coming out from the shadows. He was almost a half-inch taller than Minerva remembered him, dressed in his dark robes and somber as he addressed them. His hair still mussed the way it always did, but his eyes held the dark sobriety that so many of her former students now owned. "Does it look like my grandparents' home, Aunt Petunia?"
She nodded, dazed, as Harry crossed the room to sit beside her on the sofa. Rachel put a hand on Minerva's shoulder, and the two women held back, silent, in the shadows.
"Yes." Petunia trembled as she looked around her at the relics of her youth, not looking into Harry's face as she surveyed the room. "The telly was over that way," she said, "and the bookshelf back there, but otherwise, it looks perfect."
"I was looking through the pictures. The ones of you and my mother." He pulled a small framed picture from his robe and showed it to the woman sitting next to him. "Where was this one taken?" he asked gently.
Petunia looked as if she would crumble under her own gravity. Her eyes closed, trying as she would to avoid the picture, but Harry held it there before her, unyielding. Minerva struggled to resist the urge to say something. Rachel's steady hand on her arm assured her it was going okay.
"Dover," the Muggle woman finally said. "We took the ferry over to Calais, and Dad…your grandfather shot that picture of us on the deck, looking out over the Channel."
"Mum looks seasick."
A small smile crossed Petunia's lips. "She never handled water well. Dad insisted on teaching us both to swim, but I did better on boats than she did. Course, she did better in everything else." She halted, suddenly aware that she was carrying on what seemed to be a normal, natural conversation with her nephew. "Why are you here?"
"To see you." It was a plain answer, no hint of emotion or accusation.
"You didn't have to come," she whispered.
"You're family." It seemed the simplest of answers, but somehow the effect it had on Petunia Dursley was profound. She stared at him, her eyes wide as he met her gaze head on. There was no exuberant reunion of relatives, no heart-wrenching protestations of apology and forgiveness. Just that one word. Family. And it changed everything, if only subtly. "Tell me about that one, over there." He pointed to the large photo atop the television, and neither seemed to notice when his hand rested on hers as she began to tell the story behind the pictures.
***
The letter from Dr. Massengale took her by surprise. Minerva rubbed her eyes. She'd spent the last twenty minutes sorting through the stack of correspondence she couldn't foist off on Sprout, wishing she was the type to put off until tomorrow. But tomorrow she had a special N.E.W.T. preparation seminar after regular hours, and she still had Muggle Studies scrolls to grade.
That Rachel would correspond in writing was unusual, as were the copied letters she included in the bundle she'd sent. Correspondence between Massengale and the senior staff at St. Mungo's, describing the work being done at Hogwarts, complimenting Poppy Pomfrey especially on her work, and to Minerva's great astonishment, raising the suggestion that this might evolve into a permanent situation.
The note attached to the letters was penned in Dr. Massengale's surprisingly legible script, a simple note that read:
Minerva,
I wanted to you to know how the good work you and your staff are doing is being received in the "Real World." Ambrose and I have been talking for years about my moving my practice more into the wizarding world, and I think we may have stumbled upon a solution to a lot of problems.
If nothing else, the tragedy in Hogsmeade has alerted all of us to a real need for quality medical care in the more remote areas. My colleagues at St. Mungo's were impressed, as I continue to be, by the effort and care your staff took in extending themselves for your community in its time of need.
I know Hogwarts has a tradition of excellence and service. I know that from working so closely with your staff and from my experience with you. I believe, if we are all willing to think along more creative lines, we may be able to reinvigorate the tradition of Hogwarts while adapting to the needs of the future.
I'd love to have you join me next week in London for a brainstorming session. I've invited several staff members from St. Mungo's, as well as business leaders from Hogsmeade and a representative from the Ministry of Magic, for a brainstorming session about setting up a permanent medical facility in the Hogsmeade area. I think you know where I'm going with this, Minerva, and I hope you'll hear me out.
It's important to me that you comprehend the depth of my respect and admiration for you and your staff, and I look forward to discussing this idea with you next week.
My best regards,
Rachel Massengale, PhD
Minerva stared at the letter, reading and rereading it until the words were partially memorized. She felt the internal struggle beginning, between tradition and progress, between past and future. She sighed heavily, placing the bundle of correspondence back into the big paper envelope, and marking yet another quick staff meeting on tomorrow's calendar.
***
"You can't be SERIOUS!"
Minerva looked up from her cards, a terribly annoyed expression creasing her already strained facial muscles. "Do you mind not laughing so?" she snapped, looking back at her abysmal hand. "It's impossible to concentrate with you going on like some demented hyena."
Petunia squinted her eyes shut, trying to reign in her laughter as she pressed the Muggle Studies text to her chest. "I'm sorry, Minerva, but this is the funniest thing I've ever read." She held the book up to read, but put it back down at McGonagall's scowl. "Sorry," she added contritely.
"Hit me," Minerva said finally, and Petunia laid down the card. She dropped her hand and groaned. "Twenty-two. Damn, girl, I thought you said this game was amusing."
"It is when you win. Wait until I teach you bridge," she added.
"You are not teaching me any more card games." Minerva shoved the offending cards towards Petunia, who shuffled them back into the deck. It was a clear, warm Sunday afternoon, and she was enjoying the fact that most of the faculty and staff were off enjoying the day. For once, she'd managed to steal a few hours for herself, and Petunia's company was a welcome relief from contracts and negotiations and alumni meetings.
They sat in the staff lounge, part of the increasing time Petunia was staying away from hospital wing during her recovery. That first afternoon with Harry, so many months ago, had proven the break they needed, and afterwards, Petunia began opening up more and more. Between Dr. Massengale and Dr. Marlowe, she'd been treated with a combination of therapy and magic, reliving the trauma slowly, sharing the horrors she'd experienced, the guilt she felt, and the grief that threatened to overwhelm her.
Harry visited often now, sometimes bringing Hermione or Ron. Usually though, he came alone, spending hours with his aunt amongst the relics of their family, asking her questions, listening to her stories, telling his own.
And Petunia Evans Dursley seemed to blossom through that harsh first winter at Hogwarts, sliding backwards at times, but for the most part pushing through the darkness as if being born anew with the spring.
Minerva found herself looking forward to their all-too-infrequent visits together, sharing tea and discussing the events of the day. She found herself enjoying the different perspective Petunia provided on life at Hogwarts, now that she was healing from her wounds both physical and emotional.
She still didn't eat enough, Minerva noticed as she stared at the biscuits, untouched on Petunia's plate. "You didn't take even a bite," she scolded softly.
Petunia glanced uncomfortably at the biscuits. "I had some tea," she offered.
"You need to eat." It was becoming an old argument between them. For some reason, food had become a major sticking point in Petunia's guilt, a symbol of everything that had been done to her and worse, everything she had done to Harry. It was hard, and they talked about it often, in quieter moments, but Petunia was still rail-thin. "Just a nibble, please?" she added.
Petunia smiled weakly. She didn't have to say a word. It was all over her long face. The cookies looked repulsive to her, as did most of the food she forced herself to eat. She picked up the biscuit gingerly, a simple shortbread thing, and lifted it to her lips. Closing her eyes, she took the tiniest bite and swallowed hard, followed by a large sip of tea. The upward glance, so self-conscious, was a cry for kindness.
Minerva put her hand over Petunia's, allowing the warmth to flow through into the shaking fingers she held. "It'll take time."
"They used to…" Her voice was a shadow of itself, low, whispering into the cookie she still held in a trembling hand. "They used to eat in front of me, back there, in that place." She shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to hide from a particularly unsavory sight. "Lavish banquets, several of them, all in masque. Me, sitting in my own filth. Watching them as they laughed at me, throwing food to their animals. Those horrible…terrible elf things…they'd have them spray me with scent. They said I offended their nostrils." She dropped the cookie back onto the place, averting her eyes, trying to pull her hand from Minerva's tight, reassuring grip. "I was so hungry," Petunia breathed. "I would have killed for the scraps their dogs wouldn't eat. I used to beg them to kill me. I never understood why they kept me alive." She wiped her eyes quickly. "I still don't."
"But they did, Petunia, and you have a chance to recover." Minerva did not allow the younger woman to pull her hand away. It was rare that Petunia opened up to this degree. She didn't want to let that go.
"You've been so kind to me." It was another standard phrase Petunia used, often before a declaration that she did not deserve such treatment. Minerva understood the guilt the woman felt and believed some of it to be justified, but the degree to which Petunia had internalized her guilt was somewhat frightening. "I want to get better," she continued. "I hate being a burden on you…"
"You are not a burden on me, or on this school."
"I have nowhere to go," Petunia sighed, staring straight at Minerva with the most desolate expression the witch had ever seen on a human face. "I have nowhere to go, and it's time we stopped tap-dancing around the truth. My family is dead, and my life is in shambles. I won't ask Harry for charity, and I can't make it on my own right now. I know how dependent I am on your generosity. But I never thought…I mean, after all I did, the way I treated Harry for all those years, the fact that my…s-son…betrayed us all." She stopped here, a slight gagging noise interrupting her words. Minerva had come to understand that this was her body's reaction to emotion, one of the reasons it was so hard for Petunia to eat and keep down food. She waited patiently for Petunia to calm down, for her breathing to steady, and for her to begin speaking again. "I never thought for a moment you would be so kind about it," she finished in a subdued tone.
"We've all lost people we love, child," was Minerva's gentle response. She reached out to brush the tear from Petunia's cheek. "And we've all been betrayed by people whom we thought we could trust. It's never easy. But if we can't reach out to each other, help each other, care about each other," she allowed a small smile to play on her lips, just enough, before continuing, "then we are no better than the monsters who tortured you, or the monsters who murdered our loved ones." She pressed her palm against Petunia's cheek, and the younger woman rested slightly against the warmth of her hand. "If we can be friends, my dear, then there's hope for all of us, Muggle and Wizard alike, don't you think?"
Petunia smiled up at her, nodding. "Yes. Yes, I think you have a point."
***
"I recall a time when this place was a school." Madam Sprout's voice sparkled with humor as she carried a load of cuttings from her greenhouse into the new medicinal herb garden in the hospital wing.
"I recall a time when you could navigate the halls without running into a construction crew," Pomfrey chuckled. "Still, progress is progress," she said. Nobody could doubt for a moment that Poppy Pomfrey was elated when the news of the expansion came their way. Though she groused and mumbled about being taken over by big city doctors, her near-giddiness at each new phase of development was contagious.
The excitement generated by this new phase of Hogwarts' history was palpable and the support they were getting from parents and alumni alike, many of whom wanted to know if the healing arts curriculum would be expanded to include practical internships at the hospital, had indeed reinvigorated both staff and student body. A series of grants offered by St. Mungo's were already beginning to pull Hogwarts out of debt, and the new class of students registering for fall term had already exceeded their expectations.
"Seems as if everything's turning out for the best," Sprout said, with a nod towards the back of the ward, where Minerva McGonagall and Petunia Dursley sat discussing her appointment of Petunia as the new Muggle Studies teacher for fall term.
"Hmmph," was all Poppy said.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too," Sprout agreed. She grinned at the two women, oblivious in their animated chat, neither aware of anyone but each other. "It's about time, too," she added, and returned to her precious cuttings.
***
"You don't have to do this."
"I want to." Minerva led Petunia back to the room she'd occupied so many months before. Several items from the Evans home had been brought in, things she'd shown to her or expressed a fondness for. Books Minerva thought she'd like. Photos of her parents. "You just get settled in. I'll have dinner on in about half an hour." She smiled as she closed the door behind her, looking again on the woman who'd come so far in so short a time. "Welcome back, Petunia."
Petunia smiled as she sat on the bed, resting back on her outstretched hands. "Thank you, Minerva. For everything." It seemed so long ago that she'd come here, scared and broken. And now she laughed, and smiled, more frequently than either could have predicted almost a year before. When the time came again that she could be on her own, away from hospital wing, Minerva had insisted Petunia occupy her old room. Petunia had balked, saying it was an imposition, but Minerva insisted.
Neither spoke of what they really felt, not openly anyway. They spoke instead of space restrictions, what with the renovations closing off so much of the castle. They spoke of Petunia's studies to get her emergency certification in time for the fall term, and how she would benefit from the additional privacy and 24-hour access to her teaching mentor. They spoke of everything and nothing, and before either was aware of it, Petunia had been comfortably moved back into her room in the Headmistress's suite.
And Minerva found herself feeling lighter and more hopeful than she had in months, as she pulled out the ingredients and started preparing a simple meal for them both. Poppy had given her strict instructions on Petunia's dietary requirements; the woman still didn't eat enough, and probably would never get back to full weight. But it seemed a small consideration compared to the pleasure of having company again. She caught herself humming as she spelled the pot for the soup, and chided herself for her silliness.
Petunia was dressed in soft blue robe when she came out, showered and relaxed. Minerva couldn't help smiling at the picture she presented, her hair sleek and damp, folded in a robe far too large for her slender frame.
"Thought I'd make myself comfortable," she said shyly. "It's so hard to take a decent shower in hospital wing, and you have that lovely tub…"
"No, not at all." She found herself staring, unable to think of anything to say as she watched the light from the fire playing in Petunia's damp hair. Minerva didn't know how long they'd stood there, silently watching each other, when the whistle from the teapot startled her. "Erm, better get that," she muttered, feeling three kinds the fool.
"Let me help," Petunia said, moving beside her to stir the pot of soup. She didn't seem to care that the soup was stirring itself. She stood next to Minerva, smelling of jasmine, still exuding warmth from the bath.
Minerva held her breath, not wanting to feel what she couldn't resist feeling, not wanting to admit to herself that her enjoyment of Petunia's company was no longer simply platonic. Petunia had blossomed, yes, but so had Minerva in those first months of struggle after Albus's death. She'd found herself reevaluating her life, and realizing that loneliness was no longer something she found acceptable. In her efforts to become, as Poppy had suggested, "the next McGonagall," she'd discovered a deeply hidden and overpowering need to be connected, to her school, to her friends, and to her world. She could no longer hide behind the coolness that had served her so well for decades. Coolness had melted in the flames of war, and now she wanted warmth. The warmth of friendship, of family and companionship.
She wanted Petunia, and she could hardly bear to be close to her without touching her. She drew in a deep breath, feeling guilty about her desires, knowing how vulnerable Petunia still was and ashamed that she might be taking advantage of that vulnerability. She wanted to tell her, to give her the chance to leave gracefully if that was what she wanted, but Minerva couldn't bring herself to say the words.
Loneliness bore down on her, and stilled her tongue.
"It smells delicious," Petunia murmured, peering into the pot of vegetables simmering on the stove. With a mischievous smile, she added, "And I'm actually feeling rather hungry tonight."
"Good," Minerva attempted a scolding tone, tempered with lightness and humor. But the syllable sounded hoarse to her ears. "I'd hate to have to bring Poppy a negative report on your first day out."
"Heaven forbid. Shall I set the table?" Petunia didn't wait for an answer as she spun away from the stove, reaching up into the cabinet for two glasses to set on the tiny kitchen table. Minerva watched as she quickly laid out the plates and silverware, folded napkins and straightened the bowl of fruit that she used as a centerpiece. So fancy for a weeknight, she thought, but smiled at the efforts.
This was civilization, she thought. This was health. Setting the table for a mid-week meal, using cloth napkins and sharing conversation with someone you loved over a home-cooked meal.
She realized what her expression was saying as Petunia turned suddenly to ask a question. She knew her thoughts were written all over her features, for Petunia's eyes widened, a blush spreading from her throat to her forehead as their eyes locked.
Minerva was the first to turn away, mumbled apologies tumbling from her lips as she searched for anything to distract her. Petunia closed the gap between them, her thin pale hand stopping Minerva's escape as she moved closer, face to face. "Minerva?" she whispered. Her eyes were enormous, full of curiosity and wonder and shock.
Petunia's fingers seemed to burn her skin. She dipped her cheek low, brushing her skin against that caress. A thrill of contact shot through her as her lips made contact with the other woman's fingertips, soft and sure as they traced her mouth.
It was Minerva who was trembling now, trembling as the younger woman stroked a single finger along her jaw line, lifting her chin to gaze at her. "Minerva?" she asked again, her voice low and smooth.
"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I should have told you…before."
"I didn't know." There was no accusation, no clue if Petunia returned her feelings. She felt the urge to push, to know immediately, but Minerva knew only too well how fragile Petunia still was. She wouldn't push.
"If you're uncomfortable, I can find some other arrangements. Another room," she clarified. "Where you can live. If you don't feel…right…staying here." Stupid, Minerva chided silently. Stupid, stupid woman. She should have told her, given her the opportunity to say no before moving her things into the spare room. Give her the chance not to feel obligated. Not to feel pressured.
She was still scolding herself when Petunia moved closer to her, brushing her lips gently against hers. It was the softest of kisses, barely registering as a real kiss, more like something from a daydream. She held her breath, holding still as Petunia explored the kiss, adjusting her position slightly, closing her eyes as she deepened the contact.
Minerva wrapped her arms around Petunia, pulling her into a warm embrace, unable to resist the urge to press her body against the younger woman's, to pour her emotion, her loneliness and grief, into that one, perfect kiss.
And dinner was forgotten as they kissed, wrapping themselves in the sensation of joyful exploration until the smell of burning soup forced them apart, laughing, to salvage dinner. And they ate their spoiled dinner, staring at each other and tentatively touching, both stunned and amazed at this unexpected happiness.
And they walked together to Minerva's bedroom, hand in hand, as they kissed more. Petunia loosened the careful bun that held McGonagall's hair captive, and Minerva untied the robes that hid her young lady's body from her. And they touched, lying in the filtered moonlight on Minerva's bed, sharing the history their bodies told, the scars and the wrinkles, the curves and the planes. And they created a connection between them, with mind and body and spirit and curiosity, as they gave each other the pleasures she'd so long denied.
And when their lovemaking was done, and their passions were spent for the moment, they lay together in silence, wrapped in each other's arms, tears glistening on their skin, Minerva's on Petunia's and vice versa. Minerva brushed her lips, tenderly, over the Death Eater scar on her chest. It had faded to pale pink against Petunia's cream-colored skin. It was the one aspect of her captivity Petunia never discussed, and might never share with her.
But tonight, in the moonlight of their first night together, it seemed enough to acknowledge the thing that brought them together, to remind themselves that from tragedy can blossom, full-grown, bliss.
And they slept in each others' arms, joyously unconcerned by the world around them, a heady chrysalis of sensual pleasure and emotional sanctuary wrapped around them, for the rest of the night at least.
And when they woke, it felt for the first time that the true dawn had come at last.
***
"I'm so happy to see so many of you here at the beginning of this term." Minerva looked out at the sea of faces, four long tables filled with children ranging from eleven years to seventeen, some excited, many just looking tired and ready for the banquet to begin. "As you know, there are many changes at Hogwarts this term, and I trust you will be patient and mindful of the crews that are working here on the new hospital."
She talked through the announcements, warnings of the Forbidden Forest, explanation of the rules, things she could recite in her dreams from so many years of hearing Albus Dumbledore say the same things. But now they had a different flavor, her personal touches here and there, new little jokes that would soon become old. And she felt a confidence returning to her that she hadn't had the previous year.
"I'm happy to announce two new members of our staff," she added. It had been tedious work, head-banging-against-brick-walls work, to convince the Ministry to allow Muggle teachers, but it was worth the effort. "Dr. Rachel Massengale will be teaching a basic healing arts class as well as assisting with the development of the Hogwarts Healing Center." She waited as the polite applause to end. "And Petunia Dursley will be taking over the Muggle Studies department." More polite applause. It barely bothered Minerva as she watched Petunia basking, shyly, in the attention. It was just a new beginning, she thought. A new beginning for Petunia, for Hogwarts. She couldn't run this school as Dumbledore did, but by Merlin, she'd run it.
And run it well. With a few more reminders about rule-breaking, Minerva felt it was time to let these hungry children eat. She raised her hands and the hall was filled with an abundance of food. She sat down, a nod to Sprout who was seated to her right. She leaned over and saw Petunia, somewhat ashen but steady, adding a modest bit of meat and vegetables to her plate. She smiled at her, and was graced with a warm smile in return.
Turning to her own meal, she was surprised to see a tiny object on the empty plate.
"What's that?" Sprout asked, leaning over to get some mashed potatoes.
"A Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean," Minerva laughed. She popped it into her mouth, grimacing as she bit into it. With a lift of her eyebrows, she cast a tired glance at Sprout. "Alas. Earwax," she said in a terrifyingly accurate impersonation of Albus Dumbledore.
Sprout stared at her for a long moment, then burst into laughter.
It was an excellent start to a new school year.
The End
Author: MinervaFan
Rating: R
A/N: Written for Lilith Morgana
Summary: A devastating war ends with a crippling attack on the town of Hogsmeade. With refugees streaming into Hogwarts, a frightened Muggle woman lies silent, caught up in the chaos of the wizarding world and her own role in its near destruction. With Dumbledore gone, and Hogwarts on the verge of collapse, can Minerva McGonagall bring it all back together?
It was odd how things turned out. For instance, Petunia Dursley had no doubt spent a great deal of her husband's money on clothes and hair, fancy frocks and elaborate hairstyles that took hours to perfect.
But as she sat in the chair near her bed, looking out onto the snowy grounds, she seemed to Minerva to be younger and prettier than she'd ever been. Her hair had been brushed by one of the aides, and she wore borrowed robes of a deep blue color. There was barely any expression on her face at all, just high cheekbones, pronounced jaw, and somber eyes staring forward as she watched the thoughts only her eyes could see.
Maybe it was all those evenings she'd spent with her, reading quietly in her sitting room, that made Minerva notice the trembling of Petunia Dursley's hands as she gripped the chair. Maybe it was the memory of how she'd begun to smile once and again, while staying in her rooms, that made Minerva aware of the profound sadness in that face.
Maybe it was her own loneliness. Quiet though she was, Petunia Dursley had been a lovely houseguest, and Minerva had gotten quite used to the peaceful companionship she provided. To the simple discussion of books and crafts, of Minerva's painting and Petunia's sewing, of places they'd been and music they enjoyed. She'd been so quietly fixed into the back of Minerva's chaotic life that the loss of her presence had been a surprising blow.
And now guilt mixed with the loneliness she felt as she hovered at the edge of hospital wing. Harry would be here in the morning, and hopefully Dr. Massengale's plan would work. But what then? She worried for Petunia. It seemed an odd thing, to worry about a woman who had so terribly neglected and abused a child, but she did. Worried because, without her husband and son, Petunia did not seem so much the horrible creature she'd been when they dropped Harry on her doorstep almost twenty years before. Perhaps she'd been broken by Malfoy's treatment of her in his dungeon. Or maybe that had never been her at all, just a mask she wore to fit into her Muggle reality.
"You'll make yourself sick if you worry any more." Poppy Pomfrey stood behind Minerva, her soft voice just in her left ear. Minerva wondered how long she'd been standing there.
"I was just going back to my rooms. I wanted to…"
"Check on her. Make sure she's all right." Pomfrey lifted her eyebrows. "Same thing you've said every night since we brought her in here."
Minerva rubbed her eyes. "I know, I know. But I feel--"
"Responsible?" Poppy seemed to spit the word out. "Don't you dare, Minerva McGonagall. You did not do this to her, and you were not responsible for what happened last week in your quarters."
"I should have known something was wrong…"
"We've discussed this already. Look, you can't fix everything. You can't stop bad things from happening." Pomfrey's arms were folded across her chest. "You can't be--"
"Dumbledore?" Minerva barely spoke the name, but it hit with the force of a hurricane. "I can't be Dumbledore. I can't just walk into a room and fix the situation."
"Minerva…"
But the stress of the last few months was having its toll on Minerva, and she continued without missing a beat. "I can't find miracles around every corner, Poppy. I have bills that are overdue, and tuition is down, and I don't know how we'll get teachers for next term when we can barely fill the classrooms, and then I have Petunia wanting to die and I can't help her and I--"
She spoke the last words into Poppy's waiting embrace, and it all seemed to come out in one big burst. Her anger, her frustration, her fears. She let Pomfrey lead her into the private office, where she collapsed into a chair, her head pounding and heart racing.
Poppy said nothing, just went to her desk and pulled out a bottle of fire whiskey. She poured a small amount into a glass and handed it to Minerva. "For medicinal purposes," she said.
Minerva let out a weak chuckle, and downed the contents in one gulp. It burned like hell, but that was good, somehow. She could feel it tracing a path down her throat and into her chest, where it spread quickly throughout her body. With a soft groan, she said, "I'm so sorry, Poppy."
"Nonsense, don't know why you didn't go off on someone sooner. It's long overdue." Pomfrey recapped the bottle and put it back into her desk before sitting down in her own chair. "Now, first of all, are you calmer now?"
Minerva nodded, embarrassed by her own emotional outburst.
"Good, now, let's address some things here. Bills will be paid when they get paid. That's how this school is run."
"But it's never been this--"
"Yes, it has, Minerva McGonagall, and you know it. We've always run on a tight budget here, as you'd know from your years as deputy, that is, if your brain were functioning properly. As for teachers. You have all the teachers you need…"
"Running themselves ragged, teaching double loads, without a pay increase since the war began…"
"And we're still here, Headmistress." Pomfrey's words were emphasized by her knuckles rapping on the wooden desktop. "We're still here, and here is where we'll stay. Hogwarts is the only home most of us have had for decades." Her expression softened as she caught Minerva's eyes. "We're not going to abandon her because of a pay raise."
"Thank you," Minerva whispered.
"And as for students…just hang on. The parents will come around. Hogwarts is the finest school of its kind in Britain, perhaps in the world. They'll come back, Minerva, I know it."
"How much of that reputation was Hogwarts, and how much of it Dumbledore?" Minerva's eyes did not meet those of her friend. "Poppy, I can't do what he did. I try, and I just can't. I think to myself everyday, Albus would have had an answer to this. Albus would have had a solution. But I can't do it, no matter how hard I try." She shook her head. "I don't know if Hogwarts can survive without Dumbledore, Poppy. And I can't be Dumbledore."
"And you shouldn't try. I've been watching you these past few months, and I see you struggling with it. You're trying to run this school like Dumbledore would have, and it's killing you."
"Don't be dramatic."
But Pomfrey was not going to be swayed. "Dumbledore chose you as his successor for a reason. He knew you could handle this place, and all the chaos with it, in your own way. He never wanted you to become a female version of him." She stood, crossing the distance between them to take Minerva's hands in hers. "You can't be the next Dumbledore, Minerva. You have to be the next McGonagall. And I assure you, Headmistress McGonagall can keep Hogwarts alive and thriving. I know that. Albus knew it, too." She lifted Minerva's chin so the woman was looking straight into her eyes. "Now the only thing left, Minerva McGonagall, is for you to know it."
***
"I'm not feeling up to a walk," Petunia muttered as she shuffled nonetheless down the corridor between Minerva and Dr. Massengale. She wore the Muggle dress Rachel had brought from a nearby village, and her hair had been swept up into a French twist by one of the local girls. Rachel had insisted she put on makeup and get herself looking her best.
They hadn't told her about Harry. She seemed to pull away from any discussion of her past, more so since the jump. It was drastic, surprising her like this, and both Minerva and Rachel felt the strain of the moments passing as they walked towards the Room of Requirement with their patient in tow.
The hallways were clear, with most of the students and faculty off to the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term. It seemed odd to be sending them, but Rosmerta had insisted and Sprout agreed. A sense of normalcy was the best thing for the children, and she'd even asked Sprout to bring her a few items back from the newly restored Honeydukes.
But Petunia knew nothing of the joys of browsing through Honeydukes, or sipping gillywater in the back room of the Three Broomsticks while friends laughed and gossiped all about you. Minerva held back a nostalgic sigh of regret as they neared the door to the Room of Requirement. There would be visits to Hogsmeade later, she reminded herself.
"You have a visitor, Petunia," Rachel said as she opened the door. "We didn't want to get your hopes up, but we thought you might prefer to visit in private."
There was a loud gasp as Petunia looked through the doorframe into the room. It was amazing, even to Minerva, who'd been expecting it. The room seemed an exact replica of a 1960s Muggle living room, with an overstuffed faded sofa, an enormous television in a polished wooden case. Pictures scattered about every flat surface, framed in silver and mahogany, of two young girls smiling and laughing in sepia-toned stillness. Minerva stepped quietly into the room behind Petunia and Rachel, her eyes catching on one picture of two girls, a tall brunette and a shorter redhead, weaving chains of picked daisies on a hillside. They couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old, yet they seemed so serious in their tasks.
"Dear god," Petunia whispered as she sank into the large cream-colored couch. "Dear god in heaven."
"Did we get it right?" It was Harry, coming out from the shadows. He was almost a half-inch taller than Minerva remembered him, dressed in his dark robes and somber as he addressed them. His hair still mussed the way it always did, but his eyes held the dark sobriety that so many of her former students now owned. "Does it look like my grandparents' home, Aunt Petunia?"
She nodded, dazed, as Harry crossed the room to sit beside her on the sofa. Rachel put a hand on Minerva's shoulder, and the two women held back, silent, in the shadows.
"Yes." Petunia trembled as she looked around her at the relics of her youth, not looking into Harry's face as she surveyed the room. "The telly was over that way," she said, "and the bookshelf back there, but otherwise, it looks perfect."
"I was looking through the pictures. The ones of you and my mother." He pulled a small framed picture from his robe and showed it to the woman sitting next to him. "Where was this one taken?" he asked gently.
Petunia looked as if she would crumble under her own gravity. Her eyes closed, trying as she would to avoid the picture, but Harry held it there before her, unyielding. Minerva struggled to resist the urge to say something. Rachel's steady hand on her arm assured her it was going okay.
"Dover," the Muggle woman finally said. "We took the ferry over to Calais, and Dad…your grandfather shot that picture of us on the deck, looking out over the Channel."
"Mum looks seasick."
A small smile crossed Petunia's lips. "She never handled water well. Dad insisted on teaching us both to swim, but I did better on boats than she did. Course, she did better in everything else." She halted, suddenly aware that she was carrying on what seemed to be a normal, natural conversation with her nephew. "Why are you here?"
"To see you." It was a plain answer, no hint of emotion or accusation.
"You didn't have to come," she whispered.
"You're family." It seemed the simplest of answers, but somehow the effect it had on Petunia Dursley was profound. She stared at him, her eyes wide as he met her gaze head on. There was no exuberant reunion of relatives, no heart-wrenching protestations of apology and forgiveness. Just that one word. Family. And it changed everything, if only subtly. "Tell me about that one, over there." He pointed to the large photo atop the television, and neither seemed to notice when his hand rested on hers as she began to tell the story behind the pictures.
***
The letter from Dr. Massengale took her by surprise. Minerva rubbed her eyes. She'd spent the last twenty minutes sorting through the stack of correspondence she couldn't foist off on Sprout, wishing she was the type to put off until tomorrow. But tomorrow she had a special N.E.W.T. preparation seminar after regular hours, and she still had Muggle Studies scrolls to grade.
That Rachel would correspond in writing was unusual, as were the copied letters she included in the bundle she'd sent. Correspondence between Massengale and the senior staff at St. Mungo's, describing the work being done at Hogwarts, complimenting Poppy Pomfrey especially on her work, and to Minerva's great astonishment, raising the suggestion that this might evolve into a permanent situation.
The note attached to the letters was penned in Dr. Massengale's surprisingly legible script, a simple note that read:
Minerva,
I wanted to you to know how the good work you and your staff are doing is being received in the "Real World." Ambrose and I have been talking for years about my moving my practice more into the wizarding world, and I think we may have stumbled upon a solution to a lot of problems.
If nothing else, the tragedy in Hogsmeade has alerted all of us to a real need for quality medical care in the more remote areas. My colleagues at St. Mungo's were impressed, as I continue to be, by the effort and care your staff took in extending themselves for your community in its time of need.
I know Hogwarts has a tradition of excellence and service. I know that from working so closely with your staff and from my experience with you. I believe, if we are all willing to think along more creative lines, we may be able to reinvigorate the tradition of Hogwarts while adapting to the needs of the future.
I'd love to have you join me next week in London for a brainstorming session. I've invited several staff members from St. Mungo's, as well as business leaders from Hogsmeade and a representative from the Ministry of Magic, for a brainstorming session about setting up a permanent medical facility in the Hogsmeade area. I think you know where I'm going with this, Minerva, and I hope you'll hear me out.
It's important to me that you comprehend the depth of my respect and admiration for you and your staff, and I look forward to discussing this idea with you next week.
My best regards,
Rachel Massengale, PhD
Minerva stared at the letter, reading and rereading it until the words were partially memorized. She felt the internal struggle beginning, between tradition and progress, between past and future. She sighed heavily, placing the bundle of correspondence back into the big paper envelope, and marking yet another quick staff meeting on tomorrow's calendar.
***
"You can't be SERIOUS!"
Minerva looked up from her cards, a terribly annoyed expression creasing her already strained facial muscles. "Do you mind not laughing so?" she snapped, looking back at her abysmal hand. "It's impossible to concentrate with you going on like some demented hyena."
Petunia squinted her eyes shut, trying to reign in her laughter as she pressed the Muggle Studies text to her chest. "I'm sorry, Minerva, but this is the funniest thing I've ever read." She held the book up to read, but put it back down at McGonagall's scowl. "Sorry," she added contritely.
"Hit me," Minerva said finally, and Petunia laid down the card. She dropped her hand and groaned. "Twenty-two. Damn, girl, I thought you said this game was amusing."
"It is when you win. Wait until I teach you bridge," she added.
"You are not teaching me any more card games." Minerva shoved the offending cards towards Petunia, who shuffled them back into the deck. It was a clear, warm Sunday afternoon, and she was enjoying the fact that most of the faculty and staff were off enjoying the day. For once, she'd managed to steal a few hours for herself, and Petunia's company was a welcome relief from contracts and negotiations and alumni meetings.
They sat in the staff lounge, part of the increasing time Petunia was staying away from hospital wing during her recovery. That first afternoon with Harry, so many months ago, had proven the break they needed, and afterwards, Petunia began opening up more and more. Between Dr. Massengale and Dr. Marlowe, she'd been treated with a combination of therapy and magic, reliving the trauma slowly, sharing the horrors she'd experienced, the guilt she felt, and the grief that threatened to overwhelm her.
Harry visited often now, sometimes bringing Hermione or Ron. Usually though, he came alone, spending hours with his aunt amongst the relics of their family, asking her questions, listening to her stories, telling his own.
And Petunia Evans Dursley seemed to blossom through that harsh first winter at Hogwarts, sliding backwards at times, but for the most part pushing through the darkness as if being born anew with the spring.
Minerva found herself looking forward to their all-too-infrequent visits together, sharing tea and discussing the events of the day. She found herself enjoying the different perspective Petunia provided on life at Hogwarts, now that she was healing from her wounds both physical and emotional.
She still didn't eat enough, Minerva noticed as she stared at the biscuits, untouched on Petunia's plate. "You didn't take even a bite," she scolded softly.
Petunia glanced uncomfortably at the biscuits. "I had some tea," she offered.
"You need to eat." It was becoming an old argument between them. For some reason, food had become a major sticking point in Petunia's guilt, a symbol of everything that had been done to her and worse, everything she had done to Harry. It was hard, and they talked about it often, in quieter moments, but Petunia was still rail-thin. "Just a nibble, please?" she added.
Petunia smiled weakly. She didn't have to say a word. It was all over her long face. The cookies looked repulsive to her, as did most of the food she forced herself to eat. She picked up the biscuit gingerly, a simple shortbread thing, and lifted it to her lips. Closing her eyes, she took the tiniest bite and swallowed hard, followed by a large sip of tea. The upward glance, so self-conscious, was a cry for kindness.
Minerva put her hand over Petunia's, allowing the warmth to flow through into the shaking fingers she held. "It'll take time."
"They used to…" Her voice was a shadow of itself, low, whispering into the cookie she still held in a trembling hand. "They used to eat in front of me, back there, in that place." She shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to hide from a particularly unsavory sight. "Lavish banquets, several of them, all in masque. Me, sitting in my own filth. Watching them as they laughed at me, throwing food to their animals. Those horrible…terrible elf things…they'd have them spray me with scent. They said I offended their nostrils." She dropped the cookie back onto the place, averting her eyes, trying to pull her hand from Minerva's tight, reassuring grip. "I was so hungry," Petunia breathed. "I would have killed for the scraps their dogs wouldn't eat. I used to beg them to kill me. I never understood why they kept me alive." She wiped her eyes quickly. "I still don't."
"But they did, Petunia, and you have a chance to recover." Minerva did not allow the younger woman to pull her hand away. It was rare that Petunia opened up to this degree. She didn't want to let that go.
"You've been so kind to me." It was another standard phrase Petunia used, often before a declaration that she did not deserve such treatment. Minerva understood the guilt the woman felt and believed some of it to be justified, but the degree to which Petunia had internalized her guilt was somewhat frightening. "I want to get better," she continued. "I hate being a burden on you…"
"You are not a burden on me, or on this school."
"I have nowhere to go," Petunia sighed, staring straight at Minerva with the most desolate expression the witch had ever seen on a human face. "I have nowhere to go, and it's time we stopped tap-dancing around the truth. My family is dead, and my life is in shambles. I won't ask Harry for charity, and I can't make it on my own right now. I know how dependent I am on your generosity. But I never thought…I mean, after all I did, the way I treated Harry for all those years, the fact that my…s-son…betrayed us all." She stopped here, a slight gagging noise interrupting her words. Minerva had come to understand that this was her body's reaction to emotion, one of the reasons it was so hard for Petunia to eat and keep down food. She waited patiently for Petunia to calm down, for her breathing to steady, and for her to begin speaking again. "I never thought for a moment you would be so kind about it," she finished in a subdued tone.
"We've all lost people we love, child," was Minerva's gentle response. She reached out to brush the tear from Petunia's cheek. "And we've all been betrayed by people whom we thought we could trust. It's never easy. But if we can't reach out to each other, help each other, care about each other," she allowed a small smile to play on her lips, just enough, before continuing, "then we are no better than the monsters who tortured you, or the monsters who murdered our loved ones." She pressed her palm against Petunia's cheek, and the younger woman rested slightly against the warmth of her hand. "If we can be friends, my dear, then there's hope for all of us, Muggle and Wizard alike, don't you think?"
Petunia smiled up at her, nodding. "Yes. Yes, I think you have a point."
***
"I recall a time when this place was a school." Madam Sprout's voice sparkled with humor as she carried a load of cuttings from her greenhouse into the new medicinal herb garden in the hospital wing.
"I recall a time when you could navigate the halls without running into a construction crew," Pomfrey chuckled. "Still, progress is progress," she said. Nobody could doubt for a moment that Poppy Pomfrey was elated when the news of the expansion came their way. Though she groused and mumbled about being taken over by big city doctors, her near-giddiness at each new phase of development was contagious.
The excitement generated by this new phase of Hogwarts' history was palpable and the support they were getting from parents and alumni alike, many of whom wanted to know if the healing arts curriculum would be expanded to include practical internships at the hospital, had indeed reinvigorated both staff and student body. A series of grants offered by St. Mungo's were already beginning to pull Hogwarts out of debt, and the new class of students registering for fall term had already exceeded their expectations.
"Seems as if everything's turning out for the best," Sprout said, with a nod towards the back of the ward, where Minerva McGonagall and Petunia Dursley sat discussing her appointment of Petunia as the new Muggle Studies teacher for fall term.
"Hmmph," was all Poppy said.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too," Sprout agreed. She grinned at the two women, oblivious in their animated chat, neither aware of anyone but each other. "It's about time, too," she added, and returned to her precious cuttings.
***
"You don't have to do this."
"I want to." Minerva led Petunia back to the room she'd occupied so many months before. Several items from the Evans home had been brought in, things she'd shown to her or expressed a fondness for. Books Minerva thought she'd like. Photos of her parents. "You just get settled in. I'll have dinner on in about half an hour." She smiled as she closed the door behind her, looking again on the woman who'd come so far in so short a time. "Welcome back, Petunia."
Petunia smiled as she sat on the bed, resting back on her outstretched hands. "Thank you, Minerva. For everything." It seemed so long ago that she'd come here, scared and broken. And now she laughed, and smiled, more frequently than either could have predicted almost a year before. When the time came again that she could be on her own, away from hospital wing, Minerva had insisted Petunia occupy her old room. Petunia had balked, saying it was an imposition, but Minerva insisted.
Neither spoke of what they really felt, not openly anyway. They spoke instead of space restrictions, what with the renovations closing off so much of the castle. They spoke of Petunia's studies to get her emergency certification in time for the fall term, and how she would benefit from the additional privacy and 24-hour access to her teaching mentor. They spoke of everything and nothing, and before either was aware of it, Petunia had been comfortably moved back into her room in the Headmistress's suite.
And Minerva found herself feeling lighter and more hopeful than she had in months, as she pulled out the ingredients and started preparing a simple meal for them both. Poppy had given her strict instructions on Petunia's dietary requirements; the woman still didn't eat enough, and probably would never get back to full weight. But it seemed a small consideration compared to the pleasure of having company again. She caught herself humming as she spelled the pot for the soup, and chided herself for her silliness.
Petunia was dressed in soft blue robe when she came out, showered and relaxed. Minerva couldn't help smiling at the picture she presented, her hair sleek and damp, folded in a robe far too large for her slender frame.
"Thought I'd make myself comfortable," she said shyly. "It's so hard to take a decent shower in hospital wing, and you have that lovely tub…"
"No, not at all." She found herself staring, unable to think of anything to say as she watched the light from the fire playing in Petunia's damp hair. Minerva didn't know how long they'd stood there, silently watching each other, when the whistle from the teapot startled her. "Erm, better get that," she muttered, feeling three kinds the fool.
"Let me help," Petunia said, moving beside her to stir the pot of soup. She didn't seem to care that the soup was stirring itself. She stood next to Minerva, smelling of jasmine, still exuding warmth from the bath.
Minerva held her breath, not wanting to feel what she couldn't resist feeling, not wanting to admit to herself that her enjoyment of Petunia's company was no longer simply platonic. Petunia had blossomed, yes, but so had Minerva in those first months of struggle after Albus's death. She'd found herself reevaluating her life, and realizing that loneliness was no longer something she found acceptable. In her efforts to become, as Poppy had suggested, "the next McGonagall," she'd discovered a deeply hidden and overpowering need to be connected, to her school, to her friends, and to her world. She could no longer hide behind the coolness that had served her so well for decades. Coolness had melted in the flames of war, and now she wanted warmth. The warmth of friendship, of family and companionship.
She wanted Petunia, and she could hardly bear to be close to her without touching her. She drew in a deep breath, feeling guilty about her desires, knowing how vulnerable Petunia still was and ashamed that she might be taking advantage of that vulnerability. She wanted to tell her, to give her the chance to leave gracefully if that was what she wanted, but Minerva couldn't bring herself to say the words.
Loneliness bore down on her, and stilled her tongue.
"It smells delicious," Petunia murmured, peering into the pot of vegetables simmering on the stove. With a mischievous smile, she added, "And I'm actually feeling rather hungry tonight."
"Good," Minerva attempted a scolding tone, tempered with lightness and humor. But the syllable sounded hoarse to her ears. "I'd hate to have to bring Poppy a negative report on your first day out."
"Heaven forbid. Shall I set the table?" Petunia didn't wait for an answer as she spun away from the stove, reaching up into the cabinet for two glasses to set on the tiny kitchen table. Minerva watched as she quickly laid out the plates and silverware, folded napkins and straightened the bowl of fruit that she used as a centerpiece. So fancy for a weeknight, she thought, but smiled at the efforts.
This was civilization, she thought. This was health. Setting the table for a mid-week meal, using cloth napkins and sharing conversation with someone you loved over a home-cooked meal.
She realized what her expression was saying as Petunia turned suddenly to ask a question. She knew her thoughts were written all over her features, for Petunia's eyes widened, a blush spreading from her throat to her forehead as their eyes locked.
Minerva was the first to turn away, mumbled apologies tumbling from her lips as she searched for anything to distract her. Petunia closed the gap between them, her thin pale hand stopping Minerva's escape as she moved closer, face to face. "Minerva?" she whispered. Her eyes were enormous, full of curiosity and wonder and shock.
Petunia's fingers seemed to burn her skin. She dipped her cheek low, brushing her skin against that caress. A thrill of contact shot through her as her lips made contact with the other woman's fingertips, soft and sure as they traced her mouth.
It was Minerva who was trembling now, trembling as the younger woman stroked a single finger along her jaw line, lifting her chin to gaze at her. "Minerva?" she asked again, her voice low and smooth.
"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I should have told you…before."
"I didn't know." There was no accusation, no clue if Petunia returned her feelings. She felt the urge to push, to know immediately, but Minerva knew only too well how fragile Petunia still was. She wouldn't push.
"If you're uncomfortable, I can find some other arrangements. Another room," she clarified. "Where you can live. If you don't feel…right…staying here." Stupid, Minerva chided silently. Stupid, stupid woman. She should have told her, given her the opportunity to say no before moving her things into the spare room. Give her the chance not to feel obligated. Not to feel pressured.
She was still scolding herself when Petunia moved closer to her, brushing her lips gently against hers. It was the softest of kisses, barely registering as a real kiss, more like something from a daydream. She held her breath, holding still as Petunia explored the kiss, adjusting her position slightly, closing her eyes as she deepened the contact.
Minerva wrapped her arms around Petunia, pulling her into a warm embrace, unable to resist the urge to press her body against the younger woman's, to pour her emotion, her loneliness and grief, into that one, perfect kiss.
And dinner was forgotten as they kissed, wrapping themselves in the sensation of joyful exploration until the smell of burning soup forced them apart, laughing, to salvage dinner. And they ate their spoiled dinner, staring at each other and tentatively touching, both stunned and amazed at this unexpected happiness.
And they walked together to Minerva's bedroom, hand in hand, as they kissed more. Petunia loosened the careful bun that held McGonagall's hair captive, and Minerva untied the robes that hid her young lady's body from her. And they touched, lying in the filtered moonlight on Minerva's bed, sharing the history their bodies told, the scars and the wrinkles, the curves and the planes. And they created a connection between them, with mind and body and spirit and curiosity, as they gave each other the pleasures she'd so long denied.
And when their lovemaking was done, and their passions were spent for the moment, they lay together in silence, wrapped in each other's arms, tears glistening on their skin, Minerva's on Petunia's and vice versa. Minerva brushed her lips, tenderly, over the Death Eater scar on her chest. It had faded to pale pink against Petunia's cream-colored skin. It was the one aspect of her captivity Petunia never discussed, and might never share with her.
But tonight, in the moonlight of their first night together, it seemed enough to acknowledge the thing that brought them together, to remind themselves that from tragedy can blossom, full-grown, bliss.
And they slept in each others' arms, joyously unconcerned by the world around them, a heady chrysalis of sensual pleasure and emotional sanctuary wrapped around them, for the rest of the night at least.
And when they woke, it felt for the first time that the true dawn had come at last.
***
"I'm so happy to see so many of you here at the beginning of this term." Minerva looked out at the sea of faces, four long tables filled with children ranging from eleven years to seventeen, some excited, many just looking tired and ready for the banquet to begin. "As you know, there are many changes at Hogwarts this term, and I trust you will be patient and mindful of the crews that are working here on the new hospital."
She talked through the announcements, warnings of the Forbidden Forest, explanation of the rules, things she could recite in her dreams from so many years of hearing Albus Dumbledore say the same things. But now they had a different flavor, her personal touches here and there, new little jokes that would soon become old. And she felt a confidence returning to her that she hadn't had the previous year.
"I'm happy to announce two new members of our staff," she added. It had been tedious work, head-banging-against-brick-walls work, to convince the Ministry to allow Muggle teachers, but it was worth the effort. "Dr. Rachel Massengale will be teaching a basic healing arts class as well as assisting with the development of the Hogwarts Healing Center." She waited as the polite applause to end. "And Petunia Dursley will be taking over the Muggle Studies department." More polite applause. It barely bothered Minerva as she watched Petunia basking, shyly, in the attention. It was just a new beginning, she thought. A new beginning for Petunia, for Hogwarts. She couldn't run this school as Dumbledore did, but by Merlin, she'd run it.
And run it well. With a few more reminders about rule-breaking, Minerva felt it was time to let these hungry children eat. She raised her hands and the hall was filled with an abundance of food. She sat down, a nod to Sprout who was seated to her right. She leaned over and saw Petunia, somewhat ashen but steady, adding a modest bit of meat and vegetables to her plate. She smiled at her, and was graced with a warm smile in return.
Turning to her own meal, she was surprised to see a tiny object on the empty plate.
"What's that?" Sprout asked, leaning over to get some mashed potatoes.
"A Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean," Minerva laughed. She popped it into her mouth, grimacing as she bit into it. With a lift of her eyebrows, she cast a tired glance at Sprout. "Alas. Earwax," she said in a terrifyingly accurate impersonation of Albus Dumbledore.
Sprout stared at her for a long moment, then burst into laughter.
It was an excellent start to a new school year.
The End