Post by pinkie on Dec 28, 2008 6:56:14 GMT -5
Secret Santa for Smaug, part 2
The charms that made the weather reflect in the great hall were still going strong when Minerva McGonagall came down from her office, early in the morning, December the 23th. The skies were still dark, stars were twinkeling and the moon shone a pale light into the hall. The long tables and benches were still empty. Her bare feet hardly felt the cold of the slates. Her hair hung down to her waist, once it had been ravenblack, now it was gray. She combed it everyday, the one hundred beats her mother had taught her as a young girl. Her nightgown brushed the tops of her ankles. Minerva had been dreaming the dream she had been dreaming for a few weeks now:
Her office, with the silver trinkets, the paintings and a perch for a phoenix that never came, was shrouded in mist. She was searching for something. Someone. Things weren't right. She felt very cold, very lonely. A feeling she had gotten used to, but suddenly had felt completely new. Fresh. As if the wound, that had almost healed, was being cut open, violently. She looked out the window, waiting for something to happen. Just as she tought that she saw someting approaching, she woke up.
The dream was growing more elaborate all the time and tonight, Minerva had dreamt that she was pushed towards the Great Hall, and she had started to open her presents before anyone else had gotten up. The air had smelled of all the special christmas scents, orange and cloves and nutmeg, mulled wine and ginger. But of lemon too. And chocolate.
So now she stood in the Great Hall. The tree was almost ready, Filius and Pomona had decorated it, with great help from Neville. There were wild orchids and pansies and other colourful flowers wrapped around the branches making the tree look very exotic. The glass balls reflected the fairylights. Minerva had not yet done her part. She was too busy. As every year she had been writing.
The letters to her old Gryffindors who kept in touch, some of them getting on themselves now, others having all their own families growing up around them. Neville was close to her during term, letters came from Hermione Weasley at least once a month. Harry's children had all seen the inside of her classroom now. there were letters to Ministry officials, to members of the Wizengamot. There were letters to be written to people who all wrote to her. She found it hard to write. Her real life was not very exciting.
Her days were long, as she thought of Albus. She missed his touch. His voice was strong, his words were spot on as ever, coming from his painting. They played chess. But she went to bed alone. It was really getting to be too much. She thought of Rowena Ravenclaw more and more. She knew the stories. She knew how Rowena had died of a broken heart.
Minerva stood at the foot of the gigantic tree and with her wand she levitated some icicles up higher and higher and placed them on regular intervals. The transparent ornaments reflected more light. She took a handful of wood chips from a basket that stood next to the fireplace and transfigured them into little birds. They flew on the branches and twittered softly.
Under the tree lay one package. It was wrapped in bright blue paper with little silver moons and stars on. A little card dangled from a ribbon. Her name appeared when she bend over and picked it up. A little startled she almost dropped it. How much it felt like seeing the Marauder's Map for the first time. Holding the little parcel in one hand, she steadied herself and sat down on a bench. The hard wood wasn't very comfortable and she quickly put down a little cushion, transfiguring it from a little pinecone.
The Gryffindor table. Her own house. Where she had been sorted in when she was eleven. Her family was a clan of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. She had often wondered why she had been sorted into Gryffindor: she didn't feel very brave, the older she got, the sooner she seemed to give in to the easy way out. She was tired.
The parcel in her hands trembled slightly. She wondered if it was the package or the trick of her fingers. She smiled weakly. The cold floor was getting to her bones. If she had just gone downstairs as her Animagus form, she wouldn't have felt the cold so much, but she felt less and less need to be a cat. She picked up the present, got up from the table and went upstairs. On the rotating stairs (password: chocolate orange) the package vibrated again. A naughtly thought flashed through her mind, but Minerva decided to leave that one lie.
In her rooms she put the present under her tiny little tree, waved goodnight to the paintings and got back to bed. The next morning she felt better. Her night had been undisturbed by dreams. Though she could have sworn she had heard Albus next to her and leaving her room, when she was between sleeping and waking. When she was actually awake, she thought there was the scent of lemon hanging in the air.
The day passed by normally. Her letters were owled to the people they were for, she was consulted on the matter of Christmas dinner for the few remaining students and staff. Pomona and Filius said goodbye to go to the Christmas celebrations with their family. Neville had sent her a little note saying he would spent his christmas with Hannah. She wasn't alone though. There were trusted elves, trusted staff. There were the ghosts. Helena Ravenclaw was chatty this time of year.
On Christmas morning, she picked up this one single present there was for her and pulled at the ribbon. The paper fell back, folding neatly under the bulk of the present.
When they found her, she was wearing a pair of bright purple pyjama's, her hair falling softly around her face, one hand holding a small paper bag of sherbert lemons, her other hand holding a photograph of herself as a young witch, being kissed and cuddled by a young, auburn haired wizard, with twinkeling eyes and a long beard.
To end all other Christmases
The charms that made the weather reflect in the great hall were still going strong when Minerva McGonagall came down from her office, early in the morning, December the 23th. The skies were still dark, stars were twinkeling and the moon shone a pale light into the hall. The long tables and benches were still empty. Her bare feet hardly felt the cold of the slates. Her hair hung down to her waist, once it had been ravenblack, now it was gray. She combed it everyday, the one hundred beats her mother had taught her as a young girl. Her nightgown brushed the tops of her ankles. Minerva had been dreaming the dream she had been dreaming for a few weeks now:
Her office, with the silver trinkets, the paintings and a perch for a phoenix that never came, was shrouded in mist. She was searching for something. Someone. Things weren't right. She felt very cold, very lonely. A feeling she had gotten used to, but suddenly had felt completely new. Fresh. As if the wound, that had almost healed, was being cut open, violently. She looked out the window, waiting for something to happen. Just as she tought that she saw someting approaching, she woke up.
The dream was growing more elaborate all the time and tonight, Minerva had dreamt that she was pushed towards the Great Hall, and she had started to open her presents before anyone else had gotten up. The air had smelled of all the special christmas scents, orange and cloves and nutmeg, mulled wine and ginger. But of lemon too. And chocolate.
So now she stood in the Great Hall. The tree was almost ready, Filius and Pomona had decorated it, with great help from Neville. There were wild orchids and pansies and other colourful flowers wrapped around the branches making the tree look very exotic. The glass balls reflected the fairylights. Minerva had not yet done her part. She was too busy. As every year she had been writing.
The letters to her old Gryffindors who kept in touch, some of them getting on themselves now, others having all their own families growing up around them. Neville was close to her during term, letters came from Hermione Weasley at least once a month. Harry's children had all seen the inside of her classroom now. there were letters to Ministry officials, to members of the Wizengamot. There were letters to be written to people who all wrote to her. She found it hard to write. Her real life was not very exciting.
Her days were long, as she thought of Albus. She missed his touch. His voice was strong, his words were spot on as ever, coming from his painting. They played chess. But she went to bed alone. It was really getting to be too much. She thought of Rowena Ravenclaw more and more. She knew the stories. She knew how Rowena had died of a broken heart.
Minerva stood at the foot of the gigantic tree and with her wand she levitated some icicles up higher and higher and placed them on regular intervals. The transparent ornaments reflected more light. She took a handful of wood chips from a basket that stood next to the fireplace and transfigured them into little birds. They flew on the branches and twittered softly.
Under the tree lay one package. It was wrapped in bright blue paper with little silver moons and stars on. A little card dangled from a ribbon. Her name appeared when she bend over and picked it up. A little startled she almost dropped it. How much it felt like seeing the Marauder's Map for the first time. Holding the little parcel in one hand, she steadied herself and sat down on a bench. The hard wood wasn't very comfortable and she quickly put down a little cushion, transfiguring it from a little pinecone.
The Gryffindor table. Her own house. Where she had been sorted in when she was eleven. Her family was a clan of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. She had often wondered why she had been sorted into Gryffindor: she didn't feel very brave, the older she got, the sooner she seemed to give in to the easy way out. She was tired.
The parcel in her hands trembled slightly. She wondered if it was the package or the trick of her fingers. She smiled weakly. The cold floor was getting to her bones. If she had just gone downstairs as her Animagus form, she wouldn't have felt the cold so much, but she felt less and less need to be a cat. She picked up the present, got up from the table and went upstairs. On the rotating stairs (password: chocolate orange) the package vibrated again. A naughtly thought flashed through her mind, but Minerva decided to leave that one lie.
In her rooms she put the present under her tiny little tree, waved goodnight to the paintings and got back to bed. The next morning she felt better. Her night had been undisturbed by dreams. Though she could have sworn she had heard Albus next to her and leaving her room, when she was between sleeping and waking. When she was actually awake, she thought there was the scent of lemon hanging in the air.
The day passed by normally. Her letters were owled to the people they were for, she was consulted on the matter of Christmas dinner for the few remaining students and staff. Pomona and Filius said goodbye to go to the Christmas celebrations with their family. Neville had sent her a little note saying he would spent his christmas with Hannah. She wasn't alone though. There were trusted elves, trusted staff. There were the ghosts. Helena Ravenclaw was chatty this time of year.
On Christmas morning, she picked up this one single present there was for her and pulled at the ribbon. The paper fell back, folding neatly under the bulk of the present.
When they found her, she was wearing a pair of bright purple pyjama's, her hair falling softly around her face, one hand holding a small paper bag of sherbert lemons, her other hand holding a photograph of herself as a young witch, being kissed and cuddled by a young, auburn haired wizard, with twinkeling eyes and a long beard.
