A/N: Thanks as always to Zsenya for wonderful beta-ing and making
elegant
turns of phrase.
Disclaimer: All this belongs to Jo, not me. Please do not sue.
Part One
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Now that lilacs are in bloom
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She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
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And twists one in his fingers while she talks.
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“Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
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What life is, you who hold it in your hands”…
-T.S. Eliot, “Portrait Of A Lady”
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I entered the Hogsmeade flat and sniffed the air, which was
redolent
of garlic. Theron had either prepared dinner or decided he was going
to
be attacked by a vampire.
I went into the kitchen. For some reason, he had fixed pasta, and
there
was a basket with garlic bread. Not our usual fare, but a welcome
change
today. There was also a vase with lilacs in it. A sentimental touch
–
that was Theron. He was not in the kitchen to see my appreciation of
his
handiwork, though.
I poked my head in the living room. There he was – asleep on the
couch,
still dressed in his work robes. I looked down at him. He had not
changed
much since we were young – stately, austere gray highlights at his
temples
and gentle laugh lines were the only physical signs of his middle
age.
He was sixty-two, I was fifty-six – the thirty years we had been
married
were wonderful. Theron had continued in his job at St. Mungo’s as a
“researcher”;
I was still the professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. There were
no
children, although not through lack of trying. My younger brother
Maimonides
had married his Slytherin prefect and had a son, Meleagrant; my
older
sister Medea had joined the Department of Mysteries like her husband
Finn,
who was an Unspeakable. We all gathered once a month for dinner as a
way
of keeping us all together. Every now and then, Albus would join us
–
his duties as Headmaster were lonely, and he liked to keep up with
his
only son, especially in such parlous times as these. It helped that
I
held Albus’s old position and that we were old friends; we spent a
lot
of time together, playing chess and talking. Talking about He Who
Must
Not Be Named. He dominated much of our lives – we worried,
talked…did
everything in our power to keep our students from worrying about
him.
They did anyway.
Of course, Albus’s Order worked quietly at their jobs – as always
–
and obtained intelligence that could be used against the Death
Eaters
and their master. Theron and I helped out with it as much as we
could;
we were involved primarily for our nephew’s sake. Meleagrant had
been
a Death Eater, but had finally left their service. He was still very
volatile,
but too shaken by the atrocities he had both seen and committed to
even
consider returning to his old lifestyle. Albus had asked Theron and
me
to be in the Order to give Meleagrant some reassurance and support.
Theron
also used his job to provide his father with information about the
latest
tricks the Death Eaters were using to torture and maim. Theron was
quietly
crafty – just like his father.
He woke then and stretched, smiling at me. “Hello, Minerva-girl.”
“How was your day?”
“Quiet,” he answered. “No information, no new patients, everything
on
the up-and-up. Blessedly quiet.”
I laughed. I knew that quiet was never what he truly wanted.
Knowing
that I knew, he stood and embraced me. I let myself relax and did
not
let myself think about the essays that I had to grade tonight. I
simply
enjoyed the feeling of being with my other half.
He said, “Pasta for dinner tonight.”
“I saw,” I said into his shoulder.
He extended an arm into the kitchen. “Shall we?”
I nodded.
Amid the filling of plates, he said, “Maimonides and Demetria are
coming
over tomorrow with Meleagrant, and so is Finn – Medea is ill, he
said.”
I stopped with one hand over the basket of bread. “Can’t come –
Albus
and I are working late tomorrow, and I’m not coming home tomorrow
night.”
He said lightly, “You’ll miss a grand dinner.”
I took a bite of my pasta. “If this is anything to be judged by, I
certainly
will.”
Theron said, “We can reschedule if you want to be there…”
I raised a hand and said wryly, “It’s fine, Theron. I imagine the
house-elves
will put out something palatable for once – never mind the numerous
feasts
they’ve managed to come up with…”
He grinned at me. “Oh, Minerva.”
We ate. And then we spoke of music by the fire over hot chocolate
–
a tradition inherited from Albus – and then we went to bed. A normal
and
beautiful evening.
And the last words that Theron and I ever spoke to each other were
brief
“I love you’s” the following morning.
