Post by gmshed on Jul 3, 2006 16:46:58 GMT -5
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. No money made from this.
A/N: This is my first Harry Potter fic, so apologies for any mistakes. Also, this has not been beta-read, so apologies for any spelling/grammar errors. And yet more apologies for the incredibly stupid title.
This fic is a plotbunny adopted from Tabby67.
Harry finds a photo album belonging to Minerva and Albus.
It couldn't be found in a classroom, abandoned office or on the floor in a hall.
It had to have pictures of Minerva and Albus on their wedding day, after the birth of their first child, or of his proposal.
It had to have pictures of them kissing.
Hermione and Ron had to see it.
Minerva had to find it in the Common Room a week later.
A/N2:Have just discovered that this does not copy fonts across. So italics are Minerva's writing, lime green is Albus' writing, yellow is Xiomara, blue is Poppy and green is Pomona. Now hopefully, enjoy the story!
Minerva smiles to herself as she turns the pages over. This photo album spans over forty years, covering their courtship, their marriage, Athena’s birth, their life as a family, Athena’s marriage and Dinah’s birth. She chuckles quietly at the picture of Albus solemnly holding a lemon drop up, educating Dinah on the properties of sweets. Next to it is a photo taken about an hour later. The picture-Albus has moved on to Bertie Botts’ Beans and the picture-Dinah is laughing, probably at the expression of disgust on Albus’ face. The very image of the doting grandfather. Her comment is written below:
If he has his way, she’ll have no teeth by the time she turns five.
Along with Albus’ reply.
I was simply teaching her to appreciate the finer things in life.
Nearly every picture has a comment, or related anecdote written underneath. It’s part of what makes this such a personal thing. Even in the inside front cover:
It is a good idea to have only one photo album with infinite capacity.
I quite liked the idea of filling up lots of photo albums. And you could arrange them on the shelves.
Yes, I could arrange them in chronological order, then you would look at one and put it back anywhere. I know you, Albus Dumbledore. Just look at your filing system.
What filing system?
Exactly.
“What are you doing out here, my dear? That rhymes!”
“Yes, it does. And it rhymed the last forty-six times.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to say ‘You’re a poet and you don’t know it.’”
“You are many things, Albus, but a poet is not one of them.”
“But you liked the poems I wrote you, didn’t you?”
“Because they were so- so you. Not because of the quality of the poems.”
“My dreams are crushed.”
He sits down beside her.
“That doesn’t mean you can stop writing them. I haven’t had one in…three days?”
“My love is like a lemon drop, she can be-”
A loud bang echoes down the corridor.
“Time to break up the party, I think.” Standing, she unconsciously slips the photo album into her dressing gown pocket.
“Why not let them enjoy themselves? You don’t have to go.” He pulls her back down.
She escapes ten minutes later.
“I need to finish this.”
“Well, maybe this will teach you to put partying before homework.”
“And maybe Malfoy’s not a slimy git.”
“If you don’t care, why should I?” Hermione folds her arms.
Ron looks incredulous.
“Hermione, do you enjoy watching us suffer?”
Harry slumps tiredly and knocks a stack of books to the floor.
In the subsequent gathering of books, they don’t notice a small red book. They just bundle it together with the rest of the books, and Harry later dumps them all in his trunk.
“Golden Apple.”
Albus steps into Minerva’s quarters. Although, truthfully, there is no Minerva’s quarters, the same as there is no Albus’ quarters. There is just their quarters, they swap between the two with the aid of secret passageways and their friends heading students off.
The room is in complete disarray. Shelves stood empty, drawers had been turned out. He is just in time to see her aim a vicious kick at a large pile of books that sit on the floor. Given the size and weight of the books, it is obvious which will come worst off. Hobbling over to the sofa, she flops down and cries.
“My dear, what is the matter? Surely the great Professor McGonagall is not crying because of a stubbed toe?”
She instinctively leans back into his embrace.
“No, Minerva Dumbledore is crying because she cannot find her family’s photo album.”
“Is that why you have missed lunch?”
“Lunch? Oh no, what time is it?” She jumps up.
He tells her.
“I have a class in five minutes!” She runs out of the room and when she returns, Minerva Dumbledore is once again hidden replaced by Professor McGonagall, her hands and face scrubbed, her bun redone and her robes cleaned.
“Why didn’t you just summon the album?”
Hardly anyone would believe that the strict Hogwarts Transfiguration professor, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor could look sheepish. She could.
“I didn’t think of it.”
His laughter is quickly suppressed as she crosses the room and kisses him soundly.
“You won’t mind tidying this up, will you Albus?”
By the time he has registered the question, she has disappeared in a swish of emerald green robes.
“Not at all, my dear.” He mutters to himself. Raising his wand, he tries to summon the album. Several minutes passed. The album fails to appear. He frowns and tries again.
In Gryffindor Tower, a red leather-bound photo album throws itself against the sides of the trunk it is locked in.
(Five days later)
“What’s up with McGonagall?” Ron mutters.
“Dunno.” Harry shrugs. “She’s been like that for a few days now.”
“Please don’t allow my lesson to interrupt your conversation. I’m sure it’s much more interesting. Would you care to share it with us? Mr Weasley?” Ron blushes to match his hair but remains silent.
“Or perhaps Mr Potter?”
“We…we were wondering what was wrong. Because you look really tired, and you’ve been a bit…snappish.” Harry awaits the axe. To his surprise, she smiles slightly.
“More than usual, you mean? I am flattered by your concern, but in future please do not allow it to interfere with your lessons.” She turns back to the board.
Ron casts a disbelieving look at Harry before they bend their heads over their notes.
“What is wrong with me?” Minerva paces across the room. They are in the Headmaster’s quarters that night.
“It’s affecting my teaching. I said I would never allow my personal life to have any detrimental effect on my professional life. Even the students are noticing! Just today, Harry Potter told me I looked tired and was irritable. Because I’ve lost a photo album. I stood up and taught when I was seven months gone. Nobody suspected a thing!”
“Poppy’s concealers were excellent.”
“I just can’t seem to pull myself together. I hate it. But it’s not just that it’s gone. It’s not knowing where it is, who has it, who might see it. What if a student finds it?”
“Sit down, my dear. You’re wearing a hole in the carpet.”
She suddenly turns on him.
“You’re just sitting there! Don’t you understand? It would be a disaster! Forget about You-Know-Who, the Ministry would finish us. There is a photo album that details our life together loose in the school! The only consolation is that the Toad can’t have found it yet, because if she does, we’ll be out of here so quick we’ll wonder whether we apparated! Imagine if that Skeeter woman got hold of the story! Unfair influence, they’d say. It has long been suspected that Albus Dumbledore employs Minerva McGonagall for some reason other than her professional capabilities! People always jump to the worst conclusions! Athena and Frank wouldn’t know another minute’s peace! Suddenly she wouldn’t be known as a gifted Healer but as our daughter!”
“I’m sure Athena would be delighted to declare her parentage.”
“That’s not what I meant! Yes, she’s our daughter but that isn’t the title I want people to associate with her! She’s achieved so much, but people would automatically judge her and then-”
She is cut off as he pulls her down beside him and presses his lips to hers.
The crack echoes through the room and he pulls away, one hand pressed to his cheek.
Minerva is flushed and breathing heavily. “Don’t you ever, ever dare do that again.”
He nods slowly and she collapses into his arms.
They are sitting in the Gryffindor common room, very late at night when Ron’s quill snaps, spraying ink over his essay.
“Great!” Ron throws his ex-quill down. “McGonagall’s going to have my head if I don’t finish this.”
“I think I’ve got a spare in my trunk.” Harry goes up to the dormitory careful not to wake the boys already asleep.
Rummaging around in his trunk, he discovers a small red book that he doesn’t recognise. Maybe it’s Hermione’s. Holding the quill and the book, he walks back down the stairs.
“Thanks, Harry!” Ron tests out the quill by scribbling on a scrap of parchment. Hermione watches him critically.
“You put too much pressure on it and you hold it at a strange angle. That’s why the other snapped.”
Ron opens his mouth and Harry quickly intervenes. “Hermione, is this yours?”
Hermione looks up. “No, it isn’t.”
“Do you recognise it?”
“No. Where did you find it?”
“In my trunk. I can’t think how it got there.”
“Well, why don’t you look for a name?”
Harry flips the book open.
A couple of minutes pass before Ron looks up. Harry is gaping at the book.
“You all right, mate?”
Harry looks up and shakes his head wordlessly.
“What is it, Harry?” Hermione is concerned.
Harry regains the power of speech. “It’s...it’s Dumbledore…and McGonagall.”
“What do you mean?” Ron and Hermione stand up and cross the room to Harry, looking over his shoulder. In the picture the auburn haired wizard and the dark haired witch break apart and blush violently before resuming their previous…activities. Hermione leans dangerously over Harry’s shoulder.
“What’s it say underneath?”
Harry reads it out in a monotone.
Minnie and Albus sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
Don’t call me Minnie! And it was you, Xiomara Hooch, who levitated us into that tree and took a photograph!
And it was you, Minerva McGonagall, who was so ...occupied that you didn’t notice!
Mark this moment. Minerva Sarah McGonagall has not had the last word.
That is truly amazing!
Xiomara, don’t think I’ve forgotten it. Poppy, don’t use my middle name. Pomona, you have smudged dirt on this page.
Everybody RUN!
Has this book been passed around the entire staff room, my dear?
No, Albus. And I didn’t give it to them, they took it.
I don’t doubt that.
“That is so cute!”
Harry slowly turns the pages over until Hermione snatches the book out of his hands.
“Is that their wedding day? She looks absolutely beautiful.” The two figures wave and laugh.
“Hermione-” Harry twists in his seat. “Hermione, perhaps we shouldn’t look at this.”
She doesn’t seem to hear him.
“Oh, look!” She shoves the photo album under Ron’s nose. His eyes cross with the effort of not looking at it. She pushes it back at Harry instead. He looks down warily. It’s a muggle photograph. The green-eyed, black-haired witch (He doesn’t want to think of her as Professor McGonagall) is standing by a mirror, her robes pulled tight around her body as if to highlight the swell of her stomach. The strange thing is that the mirror does not show the protrusion. Written underneath:
Those concealers were excellent, if I do say so myself.
Yes, they were. I don’t know what we would have done without you.
Taken an extended leave? Although it might be a bit suspicious. And what the school would have done, with both the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and the Deputy Headmaster away for six months, I cannot imagine.
Had fun?
You seem to have a talent for muggle photography, Poppy.
Why, thank you Pomona. It is very easy, though. You simply point the camera, squint through a lens and push a button.
I could never get the hang of it.
That’s because you always smeared dirt across the lens.
Although this has given me an idea. The Romaot seedlings aren’t doing well. I think they need more sunlight. Do you think they would pick up if I used mirrors to reflect the sunlight at them?
I’m no expert, but
Is everyone ignoring me?
This is not a forum! If you want to act like students passing notes, go ahead! But don’t write them in my family’s album!
Ooh, Tabby’s got her claws out!
Poppy, get in here now!
The page below has a long burn streak across it.
For the future reference of Xiomara and anyone else stupid enough to make similar comments, Minerva Dumbledore still retains the McGonagall temper. And currently her feet are swollen, her back aches and she is extremely irritable. It took me two days to sort Xiomara out. I really will have no sympathy for any similar cases.
Harry gapes at the page. Professor McGonagall had hexed Professor Hooch? She has a temper? This cannot be the same witch. Perhaps the strict, composed witch who taught Transfiguration is an identical twin.
“Sounds a bit like us.”
Harry twists round to look at Hermione.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, Madame Hooch is probably the mad one, who comes up with crazy ideas. And Professor McGonagall probably helps, while telling Madame Hooch what a bad idea it is. Just like us.”
Harry doesn’t know whether being compared to Madame Hooch or Professor McGonagall is worse. He doesn’t want to think about it. He changes the subject instead.
“Is it just me, or is Ron…quiet?”
Hermione spins round and shakes Ron.
“Say something!”
Ron slowly focuses. On the photo album.
“Bloody hell!”
Harry and Hermione sigh in relief.
There has been no news of the photo album. In a way, that is a good thing, for if Umbridge had got hold of it, they would have been sacked and replaced by the Ministry in the time it takes to pass an Educational Decree. In a way that is a bad thing, for it leaves her mind free to dwell on where it could be. None of their friends, the teaching staff who are aware of their relationship, have seen it. None of the ghosts have seen it. Peeves has been spoken to. Even the portraits haven’t seen it. And accio still isn’t working. She doesn’t understand the problem. It has been summoned and banished to and from everywhere in the castle. That’s how they had conducted conversations through it, how Pomona had alerted Poppy that time when she had tried to hex Xiomara into next year. Even Albus doesn’t have an answer. His plan is that they wait for it to be found, hopefully by a friendly entity. After he had to physically prevent her from spending the night scouring the castle, she has grudgingly agreed. But that doesn’t mean she likes it. In fact, it drives her crazy. She can’t do anything. She just has to go about her normal routine and wait for the axe to fall. When she said that Albus called her a pessimist. She said she was a realist.
They had come to the decision that night. Well, Harry and Hermione had made the decision. Ron had stared blankly into the air and when prompted, offered “Bloody hell!” They had flicked through the pages, stopping occasionally. Harry’s concern for their privacy had been completely smothered by Hermione’s elation at what a cute couple they made. Occasionally a particular photo would provoke a new response. Harry had been slightly mystified by the caption under a photo showing the witch with a very small, newborn baby that read Tabby and Kit. Hermione had managed to explain it in between raptures. The realisation that it must be the loss of this photo album that had affected McGonagall so badly had a slightly sobering effect. Comparing the brittle witch of the last week to the stern Transfiguration professor they know and then against the vibrantly happy woman shown throughout the album, they made a plan.
The bangs and screams echo throughout the corridor. Minerva storms along, hastily pulling her dressing gown around her. This is getting ridiculous. It hadn’t even been Quidditch this week. It was last week that she had to break up the party. She stops in the middle of the corridor. Last Saturday. When she had been looking at the photo album. And when she went to quiet her Gryffindors- the book was in her pocket. Oh no. She resists the urge to knock herself unconscious against the wall. The house elves denied any knowledge of the book, so that means that it must have been picked up the night she dropped it. Picked up by a student. Add a week of circulation… Your relationship with Professor Dumbledore is a complete secret so, naturally, the whole school knows. Sometimes the way her ‘inner voice’ sounds so much like Albus amuses her. This is not one of those times. She all but runs up to Gryffindor Tower.
They’re having so much fun casting spells everywhere that they don’t notice her entrance. It’s only her voice that alerts them.
“What merits this display?”
They freeze and turn towards her guiltily. Hermione wonders how Professor McGonagall can look down on her and make her feel about two inches high when she’s towering over her, standing on a table.
“Miss Granger, get down from there.”
Hermione gladly slips down and stands next to Ron.
“It is one o’clock in the morning. Is there a reason you are attempting to rouse the whole castle?”
They cast an involuntary glance at the ceiling. Hopefully, the rest of Gryffindor house still sleep peacefully, depending on Hermione’s mastery of soundproofing spells.
“Um…I was-”
“Kindly look at me when you are talking to me.”
The trio wrench their gazes away from the fascinating floor.
“Bloody hell.” Ron whispers hoarsely.
The voice is pure, withering Professor McGonagall. The witch standing before them could have stepped straight from the album, with black hair flowing down her back It’s slightly tousled, as if someone has been running their fingers through it.
“Please restrain from using that sort of language, Mr Weasley.” The words are shaped by slightly swollen lips. Kiss-swollen, they realise, and flush bright red simultaneously.
“Well?”
“There…there was a mouse, Professor.” Ron and Harry nod eagerly.
“Hermione was scared of the mouse, so we were trying to stop it.”
“Yeah, it was the only way to stop her shrieking.” Hermione elbows Ron indignantly.
Minerva raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure that the mouse won’t bother you again. Now tidy this up-” With one sweep of her wand, the room is tidy; chairs righted, cushions picked up, and books piled on the recently vacated table. “-and get to bed.”
They bow their heads submissively and murmur “Yes, Professor.”
She eyes them suspiciously; she knows they must be up to something, but she can’t think what.
“Five points from Gryffindor for making such a disturbance.”
She turns to go and nearly trips over a book lying at her feet. A small, red-leather bound book. She stares down at it, not daring to hope it could be real.
“Professor?”
She gingerly pokes it with her foot. It’s real. It’s solid. She falls to her knees beside the book, grabbing it and flicking through the pages. It’s there, it’s all there.
“Professor? Is there something wrong?”
She stands and turns quickly, clutching the album to her chest.
“No, nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all. Everything’s right!”
She crushes the urge to sprint to their rooms, managing to walk fairly sedately across the room to the portrait hole. A sudden realisation strikes her and she turns back to the Trio.
“Do any of you know anything about this book?”
Their expressions are bland and innocent to the extreme. Harry adopts a slightly mystified air.
“Book? What book? We have no idea what book you mean, Professor Dumbledore.”
She smiles at them. The smile captured thousands of times within the covers of the album she grips. A radiant smile of complete trust.
“Twenty points to Gryffindor.”
A/N: This is my first Harry Potter fic, so apologies for any mistakes. Also, this has not been beta-read, so apologies for any spelling/grammar errors. And yet more apologies for the incredibly stupid title.
This fic is a plotbunny adopted from Tabby67.
Harry finds a photo album belonging to Minerva and Albus.
It couldn't be found in a classroom, abandoned office or on the floor in a hall.
It had to have pictures of Minerva and Albus on their wedding day, after the birth of their first child, or of his proposal.
It had to have pictures of them kissing.
Hermione and Ron had to see it.
Minerva had to find it in the Common Room a week later.
A/N2:Have just discovered that this does not copy fonts across. So italics are Minerva's writing, lime green is Albus' writing, yellow is Xiomara, blue is Poppy and green is Pomona. Now hopefully, enjoy the story!
Minerva smiles to herself as she turns the pages over. This photo album spans over forty years, covering their courtship, their marriage, Athena’s birth, their life as a family, Athena’s marriage and Dinah’s birth. She chuckles quietly at the picture of Albus solemnly holding a lemon drop up, educating Dinah on the properties of sweets. Next to it is a photo taken about an hour later. The picture-Albus has moved on to Bertie Botts’ Beans and the picture-Dinah is laughing, probably at the expression of disgust on Albus’ face. The very image of the doting grandfather. Her comment is written below:
If he has his way, she’ll have no teeth by the time she turns five.
Along with Albus’ reply.
I was simply teaching her to appreciate the finer things in life.
Nearly every picture has a comment, or related anecdote written underneath. It’s part of what makes this such a personal thing. Even in the inside front cover:
It is a good idea to have only one photo album with infinite capacity.
I quite liked the idea of filling up lots of photo albums. And you could arrange them on the shelves.
Yes, I could arrange them in chronological order, then you would look at one and put it back anywhere. I know you, Albus Dumbledore. Just look at your filing system.
What filing system?
Exactly.
“What are you doing out here, my dear? That rhymes!”
“Yes, it does. And it rhymed the last forty-six times.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to say ‘You’re a poet and you don’t know it.’”
“You are many things, Albus, but a poet is not one of them.”
“But you liked the poems I wrote you, didn’t you?”
“Because they were so- so you. Not because of the quality of the poems.”
“My dreams are crushed.”
He sits down beside her.
“That doesn’t mean you can stop writing them. I haven’t had one in…three days?”
“My love is like a lemon drop, she can be-”
A loud bang echoes down the corridor.
“Time to break up the party, I think.” Standing, she unconsciously slips the photo album into her dressing gown pocket.
“Why not let them enjoy themselves? You don’t have to go.” He pulls her back down.
She escapes ten minutes later.
“I need to finish this.”
“Well, maybe this will teach you to put partying before homework.”
“And maybe Malfoy’s not a slimy git.”
“If you don’t care, why should I?” Hermione folds her arms.
Ron looks incredulous.
“Hermione, do you enjoy watching us suffer?”
Harry slumps tiredly and knocks a stack of books to the floor.
In the subsequent gathering of books, they don’t notice a small red book. They just bundle it together with the rest of the books, and Harry later dumps them all in his trunk.
“Golden Apple.”
Albus steps into Minerva’s quarters. Although, truthfully, there is no Minerva’s quarters, the same as there is no Albus’ quarters. There is just their quarters, they swap between the two with the aid of secret passageways and their friends heading students off.
The room is in complete disarray. Shelves stood empty, drawers had been turned out. He is just in time to see her aim a vicious kick at a large pile of books that sit on the floor. Given the size and weight of the books, it is obvious which will come worst off. Hobbling over to the sofa, she flops down and cries.
“My dear, what is the matter? Surely the great Professor McGonagall is not crying because of a stubbed toe?”
She instinctively leans back into his embrace.
“No, Minerva Dumbledore is crying because she cannot find her family’s photo album.”
“Is that why you have missed lunch?”
“Lunch? Oh no, what time is it?” She jumps up.
He tells her.
“I have a class in five minutes!” She runs out of the room and when she returns, Minerva Dumbledore is once again hidden replaced by Professor McGonagall, her hands and face scrubbed, her bun redone and her robes cleaned.
“Why didn’t you just summon the album?”
Hardly anyone would believe that the strict Hogwarts Transfiguration professor, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor could look sheepish. She could.
“I didn’t think of it.”
His laughter is quickly suppressed as she crosses the room and kisses him soundly.
“You won’t mind tidying this up, will you Albus?”
By the time he has registered the question, she has disappeared in a swish of emerald green robes.
“Not at all, my dear.” He mutters to himself. Raising his wand, he tries to summon the album. Several minutes passed. The album fails to appear. He frowns and tries again.
In Gryffindor Tower, a red leather-bound photo album throws itself against the sides of the trunk it is locked in.
(Five days later)
“What’s up with McGonagall?” Ron mutters.
“Dunno.” Harry shrugs. “She’s been like that for a few days now.”
“Please don’t allow my lesson to interrupt your conversation. I’m sure it’s much more interesting. Would you care to share it with us? Mr Weasley?” Ron blushes to match his hair but remains silent.
“Or perhaps Mr Potter?”
“We…we were wondering what was wrong. Because you look really tired, and you’ve been a bit…snappish.” Harry awaits the axe. To his surprise, she smiles slightly.
“More than usual, you mean? I am flattered by your concern, but in future please do not allow it to interfere with your lessons.” She turns back to the board.
Ron casts a disbelieving look at Harry before they bend their heads over their notes.
“What is wrong with me?” Minerva paces across the room. They are in the Headmaster’s quarters that night.
“It’s affecting my teaching. I said I would never allow my personal life to have any detrimental effect on my professional life. Even the students are noticing! Just today, Harry Potter told me I looked tired and was irritable. Because I’ve lost a photo album. I stood up and taught when I was seven months gone. Nobody suspected a thing!”
“Poppy’s concealers were excellent.”
“I just can’t seem to pull myself together. I hate it. But it’s not just that it’s gone. It’s not knowing where it is, who has it, who might see it. What if a student finds it?”
“Sit down, my dear. You’re wearing a hole in the carpet.”
She suddenly turns on him.
“You’re just sitting there! Don’t you understand? It would be a disaster! Forget about You-Know-Who, the Ministry would finish us. There is a photo album that details our life together loose in the school! The only consolation is that the Toad can’t have found it yet, because if she does, we’ll be out of here so quick we’ll wonder whether we apparated! Imagine if that Skeeter woman got hold of the story! Unfair influence, they’d say. It has long been suspected that Albus Dumbledore employs Minerva McGonagall for some reason other than her professional capabilities! People always jump to the worst conclusions! Athena and Frank wouldn’t know another minute’s peace! Suddenly she wouldn’t be known as a gifted Healer but as our daughter!”
“I’m sure Athena would be delighted to declare her parentage.”
“That’s not what I meant! Yes, she’s our daughter but that isn’t the title I want people to associate with her! She’s achieved so much, but people would automatically judge her and then-”
She is cut off as he pulls her down beside him and presses his lips to hers.
The crack echoes through the room and he pulls away, one hand pressed to his cheek.
Minerva is flushed and breathing heavily. “Don’t you ever, ever dare do that again.”
He nods slowly and she collapses into his arms.
They are sitting in the Gryffindor common room, very late at night when Ron’s quill snaps, spraying ink over his essay.
“Great!” Ron throws his ex-quill down. “McGonagall’s going to have my head if I don’t finish this.”
“I think I’ve got a spare in my trunk.” Harry goes up to the dormitory careful not to wake the boys already asleep.
Rummaging around in his trunk, he discovers a small red book that he doesn’t recognise. Maybe it’s Hermione’s. Holding the quill and the book, he walks back down the stairs.
“Thanks, Harry!” Ron tests out the quill by scribbling on a scrap of parchment. Hermione watches him critically.
“You put too much pressure on it and you hold it at a strange angle. That’s why the other snapped.”
Ron opens his mouth and Harry quickly intervenes. “Hermione, is this yours?”
Hermione looks up. “No, it isn’t.”
“Do you recognise it?”
“No. Where did you find it?”
“In my trunk. I can’t think how it got there.”
“Well, why don’t you look for a name?”
Harry flips the book open.
A couple of minutes pass before Ron looks up. Harry is gaping at the book.
“You all right, mate?”
Harry looks up and shakes his head wordlessly.
“What is it, Harry?” Hermione is concerned.
Harry regains the power of speech. “It’s...it’s Dumbledore…and McGonagall.”
“What do you mean?” Ron and Hermione stand up and cross the room to Harry, looking over his shoulder. In the picture the auburn haired wizard and the dark haired witch break apart and blush violently before resuming their previous…activities. Hermione leans dangerously over Harry’s shoulder.
“What’s it say underneath?”
Harry reads it out in a monotone.
Minnie and Albus sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
Don’t call me Minnie! And it was you, Xiomara Hooch, who levitated us into that tree and took a photograph!
And it was you, Minerva McGonagall, who was so ...occupied that you didn’t notice!
Mark this moment. Minerva Sarah McGonagall has not had the last word.
That is truly amazing!
Xiomara, don’t think I’ve forgotten it. Poppy, don’t use my middle name. Pomona, you have smudged dirt on this page.
Everybody RUN!
Has this book been passed around the entire staff room, my dear?
No, Albus. And I didn’t give it to them, they took it.
I don’t doubt that.
“That is so cute!”
Harry slowly turns the pages over until Hermione snatches the book out of his hands.
“Is that their wedding day? She looks absolutely beautiful.” The two figures wave and laugh.
“Hermione-” Harry twists in his seat. “Hermione, perhaps we shouldn’t look at this.”
She doesn’t seem to hear him.
“Oh, look!” She shoves the photo album under Ron’s nose. His eyes cross with the effort of not looking at it. She pushes it back at Harry instead. He looks down warily. It’s a muggle photograph. The green-eyed, black-haired witch (He doesn’t want to think of her as Professor McGonagall) is standing by a mirror, her robes pulled tight around her body as if to highlight the swell of her stomach. The strange thing is that the mirror does not show the protrusion. Written underneath:
Those concealers were excellent, if I do say so myself.
Yes, they were. I don’t know what we would have done without you.
Taken an extended leave? Although it might be a bit suspicious. And what the school would have done, with both the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and the Deputy Headmaster away for six months, I cannot imagine.
Had fun?
You seem to have a talent for muggle photography, Poppy.
Why, thank you Pomona. It is very easy, though. You simply point the camera, squint through a lens and push a button.
I could never get the hang of it.
That’s because you always smeared dirt across the lens.
Although this has given me an idea. The Romaot seedlings aren’t doing well. I think they need more sunlight. Do you think they would pick up if I used mirrors to reflect the sunlight at them?
I’m no expert, but
Is everyone ignoring me?
This is not a forum! If you want to act like students passing notes, go ahead! But don’t write them in my family’s album!
Ooh, Tabby’s got her claws out!
Poppy, get in here now!
The page below has a long burn streak across it.
For the future reference of Xiomara and anyone else stupid enough to make similar comments, Minerva Dumbledore still retains the McGonagall temper. And currently her feet are swollen, her back aches and she is extremely irritable. It took me two days to sort Xiomara out. I really will have no sympathy for any similar cases.
Harry gapes at the page. Professor McGonagall had hexed Professor Hooch? She has a temper? This cannot be the same witch. Perhaps the strict, composed witch who taught Transfiguration is an identical twin.
“Sounds a bit like us.”
Harry twists round to look at Hermione.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, Madame Hooch is probably the mad one, who comes up with crazy ideas. And Professor McGonagall probably helps, while telling Madame Hooch what a bad idea it is. Just like us.”
Harry doesn’t know whether being compared to Madame Hooch or Professor McGonagall is worse. He doesn’t want to think about it. He changes the subject instead.
“Is it just me, or is Ron…quiet?”
Hermione spins round and shakes Ron.
“Say something!”
Ron slowly focuses. On the photo album.
“Bloody hell!”
Harry and Hermione sigh in relief.
There has been no news of the photo album. In a way, that is a good thing, for if Umbridge had got hold of it, they would have been sacked and replaced by the Ministry in the time it takes to pass an Educational Decree. In a way that is a bad thing, for it leaves her mind free to dwell on where it could be. None of their friends, the teaching staff who are aware of their relationship, have seen it. None of the ghosts have seen it. Peeves has been spoken to. Even the portraits haven’t seen it. And accio still isn’t working. She doesn’t understand the problem. It has been summoned and banished to and from everywhere in the castle. That’s how they had conducted conversations through it, how Pomona had alerted Poppy that time when she had tried to hex Xiomara into next year. Even Albus doesn’t have an answer. His plan is that they wait for it to be found, hopefully by a friendly entity. After he had to physically prevent her from spending the night scouring the castle, she has grudgingly agreed. But that doesn’t mean she likes it. In fact, it drives her crazy. She can’t do anything. She just has to go about her normal routine and wait for the axe to fall. When she said that Albus called her a pessimist. She said she was a realist.
They had come to the decision that night. Well, Harry and Hermione had made the decision. Ron had stared blankly into the air and when prompted, offered “Bloody hell!” They had flicked through the pages, stopping occasionally. Harry’s concern for their privacy had been completely smothered by Hermione’s elation at what a cute couple they made. Occasionally a particular photo would provoke a new response. Harry had been slightly mystified by the caption under a photo showing the witch with a very small, newborn baby that read Tabby and Kit. Hermione had managed to explain it in between raptures. The realisation that it must be the loss of this photo album that had affected McGonagall so badly had a slightly sobering effect. Comparing the brittle witch of the last week to the stern Transfiguration professor they know and then against the vibrantly happy woman shown throughout the album, they made a plan.
The bangs and screams echo throughout the corridor. Minerva storms along, hastily pulling her dressing gown around her. This is getting ridiculous. It hadn’t even been Quidditch this week. It was last week that she had to break up the party. She stops in the middle of the corridor. Last Saturday. When she had been looking at the photo album. And when she went to quiet her Gryffindors- the book was in her pocket. Oh no. She resists the urge to knock herself unconscious against the wall. The house elves denied any knowledge of the book, so that means that it must have been picked up the night she dropped it. Picked up by a student. Add a week of circulation… Your relationship with Professor Dumbledore is a complete secret so, naturally, the whole school knows. Sometimes the way her ‘inner voice’ sounds so much like Albus amuses her. This is not one of those times. She all but runs up to Gryffindor Tower.
They’re having so much fun casting spells everywhere that they don’t notice her entrance. It’s only her voice that alerts them.
“What merits this display?”
They freeze and turn towards her guiltily. Hermione wonders how Professor McGonagall can look down on her and make her feel about two inches high when she’s towering over her, standing on a table.
“Miss Granger, get down from there.”
Hermione gladly slips down and stands next to Ron.
“It is one o’clock in the morning. Is there a reason you are attempting to rouse the whole castle?”
They cast an involuntary glance at the ceiling. Hopefully, the rest of Gryffindor house still sleep peacefully, depending on Hermione’s mastery of soundproofing spells.
“Um…I was-”
“Kindly look at me when you are talking to me.”
The trio wrench their gazes away from the fascinating floor.
“Bloody hell.” Ron whispers hoarsely.
The voice is pure, withering Professor McGonagall. The witch standing before them could have stepped straight from the album, with black hair flowing down her back It’s slightly tousled, as if someone has been running their fingers through it.
“Please restrain from using that sort of language, Mr Weasley.” The words are shaped by slightly swollen lips. Kiss-swollen, they realise, and flush bright red simultaneously.
“Well?”
“There…there was a mouse, Professor.” Ron and Harry nod eagerly.
“Hermione was scared of the mouse, so we were trying to stop it.”
“Yeah, it was the only way to stop her shrieking.” Hermione elbows Ron indignantly.
Minerva raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure that the mouse won’t bother you again. Now tidy this up-” With one sweep of her wand, the room is tidy; chairs righted, cushions picked up, and books piled on the recently vacated table. “-and get to bed.”
They bow their heads submissively and murmur “Yes, Professor.”
She eyes them suspiciously; she knows they must be up to something, but she can’t think what.
“Five points from Gryffindor for making such a disturbance.”
She turns to go and nearly trips over a book lying at her feet. A small, red-leather bound book. She stares down at it, not daring to hope it could be real.
“Professor?”
She gingerly pokes it with her foot. It’s real. It’s solid. She falls to her knees beside the book, grabbing it and flicking through the pages. It’s there, it’s all there.
“Professor? Is there something wrong?”
She stands and turns quickly, clutching the album to her chest.
“No, nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all. Everything’s right!”
She crushes the urge to sprint to their rooms, managing to walk fairly sedately across the room to the portrait hole. A sudden realisation strikes her and she turns back to the Trio.
“Do any of you know anything about this book?”
Their expressions are bland and innocent to the extreme. Harry adopts a slightly mystified air.
“Book? What book? We have no idea what book you mean, Professor Dumbledore.”
She smiles at them. The smile captured thousands of times within the covers of the album she grips. A radiant smile of complete trust.
“Twenty points to Gryffindor.”
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I can't wait to see more from you, hopefully, and I'm glad you accepted this response! 
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