Pensieve: Beginnings

A response to the 100-prompts challenge, where the author has to respond to 100 different words. Will probably be pretty plotless, but will definitely involve ADMM. Chapters will be of varying length. Enjoy!

PENSIEVE: 001: Beginnings

The castle rose before her, grim against the grey sky, seeming somehow far more imposing than it had to the eyes of a student. Her eyes moved automatically to find Gryffindor Tower, daring the air. The moving thunderclouds seemed to vaunt above it, asking her how on earth she could have aspired to teach here. The Headmaster’s tower rose above the rest, and with a small jolt, she realised that she was presuming to fill a post he had started in. The urge to get back into the carriage and ride back to the station was overwhelming.

“Ah, Minerva.”

All at once, the object of her thoughts was standing on the main threshold, beaming past his half-moon spectacles. She could not restrain herself from staring; the last time she had seen him had been on the shoulders of a shrieking crowd, as they bore him away to victory celebrations. More years than she cared to think of had passed since then, but he seemed almost timeless - the auburn of his hair was undimmed, and, if anything, his beard appeared more luxuriant than ever. The blue eyes held their old twinkle, but the light was distant - was he remembering Grindelwald as well? If his memories tallied with hers, it made her appointment all the more inexplicable; who could set responsibility on the shoulders of a girl who he had had to rescue, not once but twice? Between them was a small flight of steps leading up to the doors, and she found it strangely appropriate; he was raised above her more ways than one. To set foot even on the lowest step seemed unforgivable, and she lingered, unsure, conscious of her battered umbrella and untidy bun. His mouth twitched, and she remembered that he was still waiting for a response.

“Thank you for the appointment, Headmaster,” she blurted. “It means a lot to me.”

One eyebrow quirked. “A great pleasure to hear. But there is no need to be so formal. You are welcome to call me Albus.”

She blinked, and thought it far too daring. He was waiting, but the steps still held an absurd symbolism. The blue eyes clouded. To her horror, he began to descend towards her, hand outstretched-

-To fall, slipping on the stone in a flurry of embroidered robes and assorted medallions, limbs akimbo, beard flying through the air-

-To land, face down, at her feet.

Later on, he himself saw a metaphor.

“After all, that is where I remained."