Oooh. Lookie that. Het.
Title: The Danger of Memories
Author: Redd
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "It doesn't do to get wrapped up in memories, Minerva."
Pairing: Tom/McGonagall
Disclaimer: They all belong to JK Rowling. I'm just playing. I'll return them all in one piece. Promise.
Notes: Part of the Blame Someone Else challenge
There's a book on the Headmaster's desk, all smooth leather and yellowed pages, and even from her position by the door, as far away from the book as she can be without leaving the office, she can see the faint impression on the gilded letters on the front.
She keeps her arms crossed under her breasts, her chin tilted up, trying to force her eyes up to focus on Fawkes or the window behind the desk. Her fingers curl into the fabric of her robes at her arms, until the cloth is twisted around her fingers, tight enough to hurt, tight enough to turn her fingers white, but even that sharp little pain can't tear her mind away as she takes a step forward.
She covers the distance to the desk, moving behind it, almost unconsciously. Her arms drop to her sides and her fingers dangle over the cover, centimeters from tracing the cracks with the tip of her middle finger. Then she blinks, shaking herself and forcing her body back, her hand down and still dangerously close to opening the book as her breath goes shallows, her eyes fixed on the name.
too cold hands on her thighs, glinting eyes that always buried in shadows, a too easy, too believable smile, too perfect skin that's far too smooth under her fingers
It's a loud squawk from Fawkes that tears her mind away from a safer, or so it seemed, time fifty years ago, when the only memories she had to worry about was making sure the other Gryffindors didn't annoy the Slytherins too badly, and she finally manages to force her eyes up from the book as the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks into her thoughts.
Looking up, she meets Albus's twinkling eyes, and she has to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep her mind in the present and not on the lingering thought of dark, glimmering eyes that seemed to swallow the light from the torches in the dungeons.
"Miss Weasley received that in the post this morning. Freshly repaired. Dear Mister Malfoy has grown desperate it seems," Albus says, his voice calm and soft and belying none of what she knows he's thinking.
"Indeed. It's good of Miss Weasley to bring it to you this time. Some would be tempted to see if it still...works, as it were," she replies, thankful that she can keep the trembling out of her voice enough to remain coherent.
"Yes. That diary and what it contains can be very dangerous. All one need do is ask Miss Weasley or Myrtle to find that out."
"Right. Myrtle."
"Tom, we shouldn't be out tonight. Certainly not after hours, and certainly not with the attacks," she says, but she makes not move to stop the younger boy from dragging her down the corridor, toward there spot, a tiny alcove under one of the barely used staircases, a place she used to go to read when the first years were too loud in the library, but now....now it was used for other things, things that weren't really proper, things that would lose her the position of Head Girl.
"Oh, come now, Minerva, where's your sense of adventure?" Tom states, flashing his best grin over his shoulder, never slowing his pace, and she knows that he doesn't want to give her the chance to run away.
"Currently? Back in the dorms asleep," she says with a sigh, but still makes no move to stop him, no move at all to return to her nice warm tower and abandon the dungeons all together. She barely even thinks about her reputation, her hopes for after graduation, her house as he presses her up against the cool stone of the alcove, curling fingers the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
"Gryffindors." He's smiling though as he says it, and it's almost enough for her to forget that they're supposed to be in rival houses, that being seen with a Slytherin prefect two years younger than her would not be appropriate. It's almost enough for her to forget what Dippet told her just a few minutes before.
Almost.
"Tom. We shouldn't." She presses her forehead against his, looking up into his eyes and she's not sure what color his eyes are, has never been sure, they always change, and he tilts his head, she thinks that the shadows move with him, but that's not possible and she pushes that thought away, far away. "There's been another attack, you know that, and it's worse this time. We could get in trouble."
"It's just an attack, Minerva. We're used to them by now. Just last week, the Macmillan girl in Ravenclaw saw some kind of serpent and was in the infirmary for days with night terrors."
"It's different this time. Someone died. Dippet mentioned possibly closing the school early." His eyes snap up, and for a second she can see that they're a very dark green, and she's thankful that the shadows don't always follow him. A little relieved, too, she'd worried about the Slytherin penchant for dark magic. Even considered, briefly of course, it was really a ridiculous idea when she actually thought about it, that he might have something to do with all this.
"They can't do that. They can't just close the school. What about m..." He drops his head, eyes going back into those blasted shadows again. "What about the students?" His voice is back to normal, calm, collected, normal.
"It wouldn't be for long. Just until this...thing is found," she says softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Possibly just a week or so." She leans up then, brushing her lips lightly over his, something in his voice, in that one brief glimpse of his eyes, softening her to this, suddenly not minding the cold stone or the dead girl up in the girl's toilet on the second floor.
And just before he presses into the kiss, she can feel his lips mouth the words, even if she can't hear them. "What am I going to do?"
It's faint movement out of the corner of her eye that bring her thoughts back to the present, that slam her back into herself, and she starts slightly, Albus suddenly standing next to her, so lost in her own thoughts, her own memories that she didn't see or hear him move. His hand closes around the diary, knuckles brushing against the tips of her fingers, and she wonders how her hand got that close again.
Albus holds the diary up, looking at it, then up at her, nodding slightly as he says, "It doesn't do to get wrapped up in memories, Minerva." His voice is soft, calm, understanding, so frustratingly like Tom's, yet not. She barely manages a nod as she moves away from the desk.
"No, it's not a safe pastime. Not in the slightest." She gives the Headmaster a tight-lipped smile. "You wished to speak with me?" She's trying to change the subject, trying to think of anything but that book in his hands.
"I'll be destroying it this afternoon." Her eyes fly up to his, and there's a part of her screaming that he's ruining it, ruining her last chance to see Tom, to be near him like before, even if it is a memory. Even if it will cost a student their life.
There's another part of her that's thankful, that knows he's just removing a temptation, and it's that part of her that nods and says, "Of course, Albus."
It's that part of her that keeps the other part from tearing that book out of Albus's hands.
Author: Redd
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "It doesn't do to get wrapped up in memories, Minerva."
Pairing: Tom/McGonagall
Disclaimer: They all belong to JK Rowling. I'm just playing. I'll return them all in one piece. Promise.
Notes: Part of the Blame Someone Else challenge
There's a book on the Headmaster's desk, all smooth leather and yellowed pages, and even from her position by the door, as far away from the book as she can be without leaving the office, she can see the faint impression on the gilded letters on the front.
She keeps her arms crossed under her breasts, her chin tilted up, trying to force her eyes up to focus on Fawkes or the window behind the desk. Her fingers curl into the fabric of her robes at her arms, until the cloth is twisted around her fingers, tight enough to hurt, tight enough to turn her fingers white, but even that sharp little pain can't tear her mind away as she takes a step forward.
She covers the distance to the desk, moving behind it, almost unconsciously. Her arms drop to her sides and her fingers dangle over the cover, centimeters from tracing the cracks with the tip of her middle finger. Then she blinks, shaking herself and forcing her body back, her hand down and still dangerously close to opening the book as her breath goes shallows, her eyes fixed on the name.
too cold hands on her thighs, glinting eyes that always buried in shadows, a too easy, too believable smile, too perfect skin that's far too smooth under her fingers
It's a loud squawk from Fawkes that tears her mind away from a safer, or so it seemed, time fifty years ago, when the only memories she had to worry about was making sure the other Gryffindors didn't annoy the Slytherins too badly, and she finally manages to force her eyes up from the book as the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks into her thoughts.
Looking up, she meets Albus's twinkling eyes, and she has to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep her mind in the present and not on the lingering thought of dark, glimmering eyes that seemed to swallow the light from the torches in the dungeons.
"Miss Weasley received that in the post this morning. Freshly repaired. Dear Mister Malfoy has grown desperate it seems," Albus says, his voice calm and soft and belying none of what she knows he's thinking.
"Indeed. It's good of Miss Weasley to bring it to you this time. Some would be tempted to see if it still...works, as it were," she replies, thankful that she can keep the trembling out of her voice enough to remain coherent.
"Yes. That diary and what it contains can be very dangerous. All one need do is ask Miss Weasley or Myrtle to find that out."
"Right. Myrtle."
"Tom, we shouldn't be out tonight. Certainly not after hours, and certainly not with the attacks," she says, but she makes not move to stop the younger boy from dragging her down the corridor, toward there spot, a tiny alcove under one of the barely used staircases, a place she used to go to read when the first years were too loud in the library, but now....now it was used for other things, things that weren't really proper, things that would lose her the position of Head Girl.
"Oh, come now, Minerva, where's your sense of adventure?" Tom states, flashing his best grin over his shoulder, never slowing his pace, and she knows that he doesn't want to give her the chance to run away.
"Currently? Back in the dorms asleep," she says with a sigh, but still makes no move to stop him, no move at all to return to her nice warm tower and abandon the dungeons all together. She barely even thinks about her reputation, her hopes for after graduation, her house as he presses her up against the cool stone of the alcove, curling fingers the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
"Gryffindors." He's smiling though as he says it, and it's almost enough for her to forget that they're supposed to be in rival houses, that being seen with a Slytherin prefect two years younger than her would not be appropriate. It's almost enough for her to forget what Dippet told her just a few minutes before.
Almost.
"Tom. We shouldn't." She presses her forehead against his, looking up into his eyes and she's not sure what color his eyes are, has never been sure, they always change, and he tilts his head, she thinks that the shadows move with him, but that's not possible and she pushes that thought away, far away. "There's been another attack, you know that, and it's worse this time. We could get in trouble."
"It's just an attack, Minerva. We're used to them by now. Just last week, the Macmillan girl in Ravenclaw saw some kind of serpent and was in the infirmary for days with night terrors."
"It's different this time. Someone died. Dippet mentioned possibly closing the school early." His eyes snap up, and for a second she can see that they're a very dark green, and she's thankful that the shadows don't always follow him. A little relieved, too, she'd worried about the Slytherin penchant for dark magic. Even considered, briefly of course, it was really a ridiculous idea when she actually thought about it, that he might have something to do with all this.
"They can't do that. They can't just close the school. What about m..." He drops his head, eyes going back into those blasted shadows again. "What about the students?" His voice is back to normal, calm, collected, normal.
"It wouldn't be for long. Just until this...thing is found," she says softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Possibly just a week or so." She leans up then, brushing her lips lightly over his, something in his voice, in that one brief glimpse of his eyes, softening her to this, suddenly not minding the cold stone or the dead girl up in the girl's toilet on the second floor.
And just before he presses into the kiss, she can feel his lips mouth the words, even if she can't hear them. "What am I going to do?"
It's faint movement out of the corner of her eye that bring her thoughts back to the present, that slam her back into herself, and she starts slightly, Albus suddenly standing next to her, so lost in her own thoughts, her own memories that she didn't see or hear him move. His hand closes around the diary, knuckles brushing against the tips of her fingers, and she wonders how her hand got that close again.
Albus holds the diary up, looking at it, then up at her, nodding slightly as he says, "It doesn't do to get wrapped up in memories, Minerva." His voice is soft, calm, understanding, so frustratingly like Tom's, yet not. She barely manages a nod as she moves away from the desk.
"No, it's not a safe pastime. Not in the slightest." She gives the Headmaster a tight-lipped smile. "You wished to speak with me?" She's trying to change the subject, trying to think of anything but that book in his hands.
"I'll be destroying it this afternoon." Her eyes fly up to his, and there's a part of her screaming that he's ruining it, ruining her last chance to see Tom, to be near him like before, even if it is a memory. Even if it will cost a student their life.
There's another part of her that's thankful, that knows he's just removing a temptation, and it's that part of her that nods and says, "Of course, Albus."
It's that part of her that keeps the other part from tearing that book out of Albus's hands.