Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[MMADfan]

osusprinks said:

I loved this. Albus was great. I loved that by working through his lists he really did come to the heart of the matter. I know he feels better but I hope he can make it up to Minerva!

I'm very glad that you are still enjoying it, Osusprinks. I'm especially glad that you like Albus. I'm trying to present him as powerful, brilliant, energetic, kind, and all those good things, but with a few believable failings. Given his age, and the fact that he is a truly good and decent man, I assume that he's quite aware he isn't perfect, and with his character, I can see him trying to figure out how to compensate for some of his failings, if he can't fix them altogether, especially when it comes to his relationships with people he cares about. And I see him going out of his way to help someone close to him with something, even if it takes up what little free time he has--and even when it isn't something he would choose to do ordinarily. (I mean, what kind of guy would soak his beard in a bucket of yuck for the sake of yet another one of his brother's kooky schemes? Gotta love him! And he knows that he always stands out as the "smart, successful brother," and wants to make sure that people know that Aberforth has some talents, too. What the wizarding world sees as a loveable eccentricity in Albus is looked at as just plain odd in his brother.)

I think both he and Minerva will have some making up to do, and while it won't be instantaneous (what fun would that be? ), in a peculiar way, it will turn out to be a good thing they had this spot of trouble.

The next installment will probably be up tomorrow (Saturday the 10th), but possibly not until Sunday. I've fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), had a lot of time this week to write (waiting at home for various service people is not usually my most enjoyable pastime, but then I thought I'd write up this story that had been rattling around in my head for a while).

[MMADfan]

trulyamused said:

I love the lists.

Me, too. I don't see him as being a meticulous, orderly list-maker, but I got this notion that those last three (? it's been a while since I read PS) words at the end of his welcoming speech Harry's first year came from one of those lists that make no sense to anyone else, but that somehow spark his creative genius.

[MMADfan]

aurinko said:

Loved the idea of the listing, and the part where he's finally beginning to get it. My favourite part, however, is definitely your young Minerva. She's so adorable it's just... . You can't help but love her and this fic! (The charming/transfiguring of the textbooks was fantastic!) I am eager to see what Minerva's thinking, although I'm rather afraid that you'll do a wonderful job of making it very sad...hoping to read happy stuff soon (but anything is wonderful!)-- ~A.

Yeah, I like young Minerva, too. I'm glad you liked the charming/transfiguration bit. I worked on that rather a long time--I wanted to show that she was extremely talented and diligent, but not make her some kind of prodigy who could do advanced magic with no training or study. That's why, although her charms and transfiguration worked, they still had problems -- needing to charm the cover blue first, so she wouldn't have to worry about incorporating color into its essence during the transfiguration, for example, or the fact that despite the charm on her glasses, she could still see the charmed text underneath the actual text. And she hadn't learned how to key any of the charms to herself so that she could read the original text, but no one else could. Needless to say, Albus enjoyed guiding her through solutions to the problems she encountered when she was working on her extra credit projects.

I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

[Gosuto]

I like how Albus encourages people to socialize, even when he was just teaching. The story of him bringing 'Tea Time' to the Quidditch field was so believable to me, I laughed. (Startling my dog >_>;)

XD I await your next update.

[MMADfan]

Part VIII has been divided up because of its length. I hope you enjoy learning more about Minerva's return to Hogwarts, and some of the influences on the way she feels, and the way she thinks she should feel, about Albus.

Part VIIIa: More McGonagalls

Minerva left Poppy’s office determined to regain her professional composure. She didn’t know what had gotten into her. She had been annoyed, to be sure, when she’d left the headmaster’s office earlier that morning, but certainly nowhere nearly upset enough to have exploded as she had. It was reciting her litany of grievances against him that had stirred her up.

Letting out a long, weary breath, Minerva began the climb up the stairs to her rooms, waiting patiently on the third floor landing for the stairs to rotate over so that she could continue to the fourth. As she trudged up the stairs and on to her rooms, she had to tamp down the thought that she should have known, when he assigned her to quarters on the fourth floor, that she had been sent to Siberia. He had explained that he thought it would be convenient for her to have her quarters so close to her classroom. All it meant was that in the morning, she had to make her way from the fourth floor to the ground floor in order to take breakfast in the Great Hall, then make the return journey to reach her classroom before the students streamed in. She then had the same round trip again at noon and once more in the evening. Although she did have a few free hours during the week, since she was not teaching the NEWT-level classes, she rarely took “advantage” of having her rooms so near her class. She preferred to work in her office, where she could keep all of her teaching materials organised and at hand. It was also good to be available to students during the day, Minerva felt. Her favourite professors had always made themselves available when she was a student.

Minerva also felt acutely disappointed that Albus had decided to give her a different classroom. In the months leading up to her arrival at Hogwarts, her head was filled with visions of teaching in her mentor’s classroom. She felt she would be inspired by memories of her years spent there as a student, as well as by the imprint Albus had left in its atmosphere. The classroom she had been given, on the other hand, seemed stark and cold; Minerva thought it hadn't been used in at least thirty years, given the random bits of parchment she was still finding in odd cracks and cubbies. Its windows were north-facing, and since her bedroom windows faced west, there were times during the Scottish winter when she had thought she would never really see any sunlight. Even after the house elves had worked their magic on the classroom and her office, they still seemed stuffy and dank. Minerva felt she might as well have been given rooms in the dungeons.

To be sure, the furnishings were fine. There was plenty of room on the bookshelves in her office, and the convenient cupboards in the classroom were well stocked with all of the classroom supplies she would need. She hadn’t anticipated using a previously empty classroom, however, and the classroom walls and shelves were glaringly devoid of any interesting objects, charts, or illustrations. The first floor Transfiguration classroom, in contrast, was almost distractingly full of various devices, objects, paintings, and memorabilia that Albus had collected over the years. Even when she had been a child, it had been possessed of diverse artifacts and specimens that aroused a student's interest and imagination. She was sure that the new Transfiguration classroom had seemed spartan and unfriendly to students who were so used to Dumbledore’s quirky collections adorning the walls and shelves.

Early in February, the first Saturday she had free from duties, she arrived unannounced early in the morning at the rambling old house she had grown up in, startling the house elves and her mother. Her father had just looked up from the large, dusty tome he was reading, saying, “Hello, Min. Staying for lunch?” then pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and returning to his book without noticing whether she answered him or not.

Minerva made a bee-line for the attic and spent the next three hours rummaging through old trunks and wardrobes, rejecting almost everything she found as totally unsuitable–either painfully prosaic or disturbingly bizarre. By the time Fwisky popped in to inform her that lunch was about to be served, Minerva was tired, itchy (what was in that dust!), and chilled to the bone. After quickly washing the smudges from her face and brushing the cobwebs from her hair, she joined her parents in the dining room. Murdoch, her older brother, and his daughter Melina were there as well.

“Melina! How wonderful to see you!” cried Minerva with genuine delight as she sat down. She hadn’t seen her niece in several months, not since she had moved from London to Edinburgh in July, following her first two years of Healer training. She was now in a small clinic, finishing her basic training, after which she would continue for another two to four years of specialised training. “When did you get here? How long are you staying?”

Melina smiled with equal pleasure, “We only just arrived a few minutes ago, Min - erva. Dad had a few things to do at the apothecary before we left.”

“Had to check up on the apprentices. They could ruin a dead-easy burn salve if it weren’t that they’re never sure when someone's going to pop in on them. I think they get lazier and stupider every year. They pass their NEWTs and think they’re experts on everything to do with Potions,” grumbled Murdoch. “Didn’t want to worry you about it at the time, but right after the New Year, one of the apprentices, Turner was his name, blew up the back of the apothecary whilst making Wit-sharpening Potion, of all things.”

“Was his name?” asked Minerva with some alarm. “Is he dead?”

“No, though he probably wished he was, when I was through with him. He left hospital last week, and returned to mummy and daddy. I wasn’t having him back.” Murdoch stabbed a potato with his fork.

Relieved, Minerva wondered, “But how? I don’t remember Wit-sharpening Potion having any volatile ingredients. Let me see, ginger, armadillo bile, umm, beetles of some kind, and a few stabilizers. Was it a bad batch of beetles?”

Murdoch snorted. “For someone who only received an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on her Potions NEWT, and more than ten years ago, at that, you would have done better than Turner did!” He paused to eat a brussels sprout. “He used acromantula venom instead of armadillo bile, which would have done nothing worse than create a toxic–and expensive!–goo, if he hadn’t also pulverized the scarab beetles instead of crushing them. I tell you, I’m thinking of going down to that school of yours and asking Slughorn what he thinks he’s teaching!”

“How are things at Hogwarts, Minerva?” Her mother asked, finally getting a word in. “We haven’t heard much from you.”

“Fine, mother. Of course, it’s a lot of work, especially getting to know the children and what their strengths and weaknesses are, but that will come with time. The other teachers have been very welcoming, and of course it’s wonderful to have Poppy so close.” Well, down three flights of stairs and a corridor or two . . . .

“I’m glad, dear. I had worried about you taking that job, you know. I didn’t want to say much about it, but . . .” she was interrupted by simultaneous snorts from both her daughter and her son. “Well, I didn’t!” she protested. “It’s just hard for a mother sometimes. You’ll understand that someday, Minerva. And I’m still worried about you. It’s so isolated, and there are so few people your age. At least in London, you did get out some, and you met people at work. And it’s not as though Hogsmeade is a thriving metropolis, as quaint as it might be.”

“You certainly are one to talk,” replied Minerva. “It’s not as though this house is particularly close to anything–the next muggle village is ten miles away, and your nearest wizarding neighbors are the Stoats, and that’s got to be at least . . . .”

“Heavens, Minerva,” her mother laughed. “Since when did you begin thinking like a muggle? We may not be on the floo-network yet, but I have yet to walk to the Stoats, like some squib. We don’t see them much, anyway. But your father and I do get into Edinburgh. It may not have Diagon Alley, but there’s plenty there for the likes of us. Why, Melina even took us to a muggle concert two weeks ago. Chopin and Liszt. It was quite lovely.”

Her father, who had appeared to be preoccupied and not attending to the conversation, interjected, “Lovely! Whenever a man has to put on trousers and wear them for more than a few hours, there is nothing lovely about it. I swear I was getting a rash by the time we returned to Murdoch’s!”

“Oh, dad,” laughed Minerva. “That’s what you always say! There’s never been any evidence of a rash!”

“Hmmpf. Only because of its location, lassie. I won’t even allow your mother to see it!” He winked playfully at his wife and took a sip of his tea, apparently retiring from the conversation.

Egeria laughed at that and brought the conversation back to her youngest child’s choice of jobs.

“So you’re settling in well? Fitting in with the other professors? Any of the children causing you problems? If they are, you know I know many of their mothers or grandmothers.” Although she had “retired” a few years ago, Egeria had spent almost sixty years as a midwife, attending new mothers and their babies all over Scotland and northern England.

“Yes, mother, everything’s fine,” replied Minerva with an exasperated sigh. “And if I couldn’t handle the children without your intervention, I shouldn’t be there! Really!” she huffed.

“Well, then, how’s Poppy?”

Minerva, thankful for the apparent change in direction the conversation was taking, said, “Oh, she’s doing well, and loves her job. I think she’s happy I decided to take the position. In fact, I have to be getting back later this afternoon, since we are meeting at Madame Puddifoot’s. It’s a new tearoom in Hogsmeade she wants to try.”

Egeria ate the last of her caramel custard. “So, Poppy’s not seeing anyone?”

“What do you mean, mother?” Minerva wished she could join the conversation between Melina and Murdoch. Discussing the finer details of proper ointment application to scrofungulus sores was not what she normally would have considered appropriate for the dinner table, but it was better than what she knew her mother was going to ask.

“I just meant that if a girl has a Saturday afternoon free, she would normally want to spend it with her young man, especially if she’s usually cloistered in a place like Hogwarts all week, that’s all.”

Minerva was used to her mother asking her about whether she had met any nice men lately. Her stock reply was always, “Yes, mother, many. I meet many nice men.” Then she would change the topic. It wasn’t as though her mother had married young. She and Merwyn only married when it was clear that Malcolm, Minerva’s oldest brother, was going to make an appearance in the world. As Egeria always pointed out, they had “courted” for over ten years before that, whenever Minerva brought up her mother’s own late marriage in her defence.

Minerva sat stonefaced and clenched her teacup. “I’m sure she enjoys my company, mother. And it’s not a cloister.”

“Minerva, love, I am only pointing out the obvious. And then I will stop, I promise. It’s not that I want you to settle down, you know that. And if you never married, it wouldn’t matter to me, truly, if I knew you were happy. But I know you, sweetness. You have some of the best traits of both your father and me, but also some of our worst. You know them yourself, I am sure, so I won’t flatter or insult you by naming them all. Please just remember to make an effort to get to know people. Get to know the ones around you better, and try to meet some new people, as well. And if you start seeing someone socially–not Poppy! I mean a man; one who’s interested in you–well, that’ll be icing on the cake. Sweetness, you deserve to have some fun, some joy in life.”

“Thank you, mother.” Minerva took a sip of her cold tea and stared at the tablecloth.

“Now, I promised Melina that I would help her find some of my books. They may be a bit out of date, but the charms are foundational.” Egeria rose. “Melina, are you and my son finished talking about oozing sores?”

“Of course, grandmother.” Turning to Minerva, Melina asked, “Will you be here for a little while, at least? With our schedules, I don’t know when we will be able to see each other again.”

“Of course. I won’t be leaving until at least three-thirty, Melina.”

Merwyn rose from the table, put his arm around his granddaughter’s shoulders, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “It is always good to see you, Mel. Don’t let that clinic work you to the bone, now. Make some quiet time for yourself, just to read and think, or to take walks through that muggle Edinburgh you like so well.”

“I will, grampa, I promise.”

Egeria bent and kissed her daughter's cheek, one arm affectionately around her shoulders, and whispered, "I'm glad you're settling in well, Minerva. And it is always good to have you home, even just for a few hours."

Minerva smiled at her mother and stood to embrace her quickly, then turned to Melina. "Don't forget me while you're having fun with all those old healing charms! Come see me before you leave!"

"Dad and I will be here all afternoon, so just find me when you're through with your mysterious project in the attic! Do you know you still have dirt above your left eyebrow?" With that, Melina followed Egeria out of the dining room, leaving Minerva with Merwyn and Murdoch.

[MMADfan]

Part VIIIb: More McGonagalls, continued

“More tea, Minerva? Murdoch?” When they both shook their heads, Merwyn called for Fwisky, who efficiently cleared the table.

“Let’s go into my study. Those two are going to be in the library for a while.”

They settled into the study, Murdoch and Minerva gingerly clearing two spaces to sit. Minerva wasn’t even sure what she was sitting on–a bench or a wooden chest? Both her father and brother were curious about what she had been doing in the attic all morning. After Minerva had told them that she had been looking for interesting things to display in her classroom, they all trooped up the stairs to see what she had found.

“Hmm, don’t know what most of this stuff has to do with Transfiguration, M’nervy, but some of it is kind of interesting,” Murdoch said, unrolling a dusty tapestry entitled, Gwion Bach Learns Wisdom. “I think this one was in the nursery when I was a boy.”

“Have you checked everything for dormant charms, Min?” her father asked.

“No, I thought I’d do that this afternoon. I don’t want to apparate with anything I’m not sure about, let alone bring it into a Hogwarts classroom filled with children whose spells sometimes go awry,” she replied.

“Why don’t we give you a hand, then, if you think we can trust your brother’s competence with a wand,” Merwyn teased.

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose with you and me both here, he can’t do too much harm,” said Minerva with an amused glint in her eye.

“Alright, you two. Very amusing. Just because I don’t require a lot of foolish wand-waving in my profession doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to cast a few simple diagnostic spells.” Murdoch feigned injury.

“Diagnostic spells? Do you think we are in an infirmary, lad? Detecting and revealing spells are what we’ll be using. I’ll do the dark detecting, I think, if you don’t mind, Min?”

“No, that’s fine, dad. After you’re finished with an object, just pass it to me or Murdoch, and we’ll check for any other charms or transformations.” When Murdoch just stood there, Minerva elbowed him in the ribs.

“Yes, sounds like a good way to go about it,” agreed Murdoch, with little enthusiasm.

“You do have your wand with you, don’t you, Murdoch?” Minerva teased.

Murdoch just snorted and perched gingerly on a box. “Just the way I’d plan to spend my afternoon in the country, away from the smog of the city. Shut up in a dusty attic breathing in who-knows-what.” He sighed melodramatically. “The things I do for my baby sister!” Said baby sister punched him in the arm, after which the three settled down to their task.

At three o’clock, arms full, they emerged from the attic stair to find Melina coming toward them. “I was just going to look for you! I wanted to see you before you had to leave. We never have enough time!”

“I know, Melina, I’m sorry. Want to help me put everything in a bag and shrink it? We can chat while we do that.”

Agreeing, Melina followed her aunt, father, and grandfather to Minerva’s old bedroom. As they started sorting through the items and Minerva rummaged through her wardrobe looking for the carpet bag she knew was there, Melina said, “So, how’s Professor Dumbledore? It must be odd working for him and taking over his old job like that.”

Minerva’s reply was lost, muffled by the wardrobe and its contents.

“At the risk of sounding like your mother, Min, you know your Great-uncle Perseus was at school with Dumbledore. I’m sure that he’d be happy to . . .”

Merwyn never had the opportunity to say what Perseus Parnovon would have been happy to do, because Minerva withdrew her head and shoulders from the wardrobe and whirled around. “Father, I do not need anything from Uncle Perseus. Or from anyone else. Not to do with Hogwarts, my career, or my personal life. And who took my carpet bag!”

Deciding that discretion would be the better part of valour, Murdoch and Melina neatly sorted, folded, shrank, and stacked, and pretended not to hear anything.

“Um, Min, I just meant that . . .”

“I don’t care to discuss it! And my name, in case you had forgotten it, is ‘Minerva,’ not ‘Min,’ not ‘Minnie,’ and especially not ‘M’nervy!’” she added, shooting a withering glare at her brother.

Merwyn took off his round, rimless glasses and polished them on the edge of his sleeve. “Alright, lassie. I know you can take care of yourself. Sometimes it’s nice to have another perspective on things, that’s all. Fwisky!” he called out.

There was a loud crack as Fwisky apparated into the room. “Fwisky, do you know where the carpet bag that used to be in this wardrobe is now?”

“No, Mister Merwyn. I do not. Does the young Miss Minerva be needing a carpet bag? I can fetch one.” The old elf looked up at Merwyn, wanting to be of service.

“Yes, Fwisky, that would be well. Thank you.”

Without another word, Fwisky popped away. A moment later, she was back, a large carpet bag of greens and browns floating above her. “Does this suit Miss Minerva?” she asked, turning toward Minerva.

“That’s fine, thank you, Fwisky.”

As Merwyn and Murdoch silently handed things to the two women to place in the carpet bag, shrinking them as necessary, Minerva sighed, then stretched. “I’m sorry, dad. I guess after mother’s speech, combined with the fact that I’m a little tired, I was a bit over-sensitive. I know you meant well. And I would like to see Uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen sometime soon–not to talk about my job!–but I probably won’t have much time between now and the summer holidays.”

“No harm done, Min. I should have known better–especially since you were in the middle of not-finding your carpet bag! By the way, do you know when you last saw it?” Merwyn asked innocently.

Minerva thought a moment, then suddenly laughed. “Of course I do! It was one of the ones I used when I moved from London in December.” She turned and embraced her father.

“Well, M’nervy, if you want to be taking tea with your friend Poppy, I’d suggest you hurry,” said Murdoch, as he cast a lightening spell on the carpet bag then handed it to her. He winked then, and recited:
“Hurry, hurry, run, M’nervy! / Come for lunch or you’ll get scurvy. / Don’t go ’round and ’round a-whirry. / Cabbage for dinner, cabbage for supper; / Watch it now, she’s in a fury! / Hurry, hurry, run, M’nervy! / The world has gone all topsy-turvy. / Just eat your lunch, and don’t you worry! / Hurry, hurry, my sweet M’nervy.”

Minerva laughed, good humour restored. A dozen years older than she, but still closest in age of all her brothers, he made that rhyme up for her the summer before his final year at Hogwarts. He had teased her about her impatience to start school, and told her that Hogwarts wasn’t all cream cakes and hot chocolate, but cabbage, too. When she protested that, unlike some people, she didn’t care about food, she just wanted to go to classes and the library, he had simply laughed and told her that even lessons and the library weren’t particularly fun–you had to learn what the teachers taught you, not just what you wanted to study. The next morning, when he found her trying to read one of his old charms textbooks, he told her to go out and play. “You don’t need to learn everything all at once, you know, M’nervy. And you don’t need to grow up so fast.” “But you all are,” she’d protested, whining. When he took the book away, she spent the rest of the day sulking, wondering with whom, precisely, she was supposed to play. None of the house elves knew the first thing about chess, and she’d outgrown having “tea parties” for her dolls and the house elves. Late that afternoon, he found her curled up in the library with Hogwarts, a History, not reading, just holding it and looking miserable. That’s when he made up that rhyme for her, hoping to make her laugh. She just pouted the first time he recited it; the second time, she stomped off; but when they were having cabbage for lunch a few days later, he started the rhyme again, and was pleased to see her trying to hide her smile behind her glass of pumpkin juice.

“All right, Murdoch, that’s enough! I don’t need your nonsense rhymes clanging in my head for the rest of the afternoon!” She smiled and shook her head fondly at him.

“Come on, Melina, walk me downstairs. Say, do you want to come with me? Poppy left St. Mungo’s to work at Hogwarts before you started your training, so I don’t think you two have ever met, but I’m sure you’d like her. Do you have the time?”

“I’d love to,” Melina replied enthusiastically. “I don’t have to be at the clinic until tomorrow afternoon, in fact. Dad, can you take my books back home with you? I’ll floo home from the Three Broomsticks later this evening.”

After Minerva and Melina said good-bye to Egeria in the library, they walked out to the front garden.

“Meet in front of Scrivenshaft’s, shall we?” said Minerva briskly. “As you haven’t been to Madame Puddifoot’s yet.” Melina agreed, and with a pair of cracks, the two apparated to Hogsmeade.

[MMADfan]

ketseki said:

I like how Albus encourages people to socialize, even when he was just teaching. The story of him bringing 'Tea Time' to the Quidditch field was so believable to me, I laughed. (Startling my dog >_>

Very "Albus" of him, wasn't it?

Please extend my apologies to your dog. (My cats have suffered from the same experience, and the littlest one was traumatised, so they send their sympathies, too!)

I hope you enjoy the next installments (posted prior to this message), where we learn more about Minerva. There are a couple "flashback"-type sections, then we get to spy on Minerva's thoughts as she takes her bath.

-MMADfan.

[Trulyamused]

Gotta love Min's family they mean well. Love it.

Hoping for more soon.

Truly

[MMADfan]

trulyamused said:

Gotta love Min's family they mean well. Love it.

I'm glad you like her family, and the dynamics. Although I can read and appreciate a fic in which Min's family is, shall we say, dysfunctional, I really never like them.

trulyamused said:

Hoping for more soon.

So am I! I have it pretty much plotted out, just have to write it up, which takes me far longer than I ever think it will. Even though I am more-or-less just churning this out, I still want it to be a decent read, and so I re-read it repeatedly, tweaking where I don't think I've presented a scene quite right. I am trying to insinuate a lot of details about where Minerva and Albus are coming from by integrating them as story elements--did you catch the bit about Min's Great-uncle Perseus going to school with Albus? What do you think bothered her more, the thought of her family interfering, or the thought that her grandmother's brother went to school with the man she, well, I don't want to spoil anything! ;D

Thanks for reading, Truly! I LOVE getting notes from folks who read and enjoy the story (that's one reason there've been so many installments in so short a time ).

-MMADfan

[Aurinko]

Minerva's family is wonderful! Her mother's advice was pretty much how I'd imagined it. I loved her brother and his little song for her! Your family dynamics are amazing. I can definitely see that happening; perfectly in-character all around. Post again soon?

[MMADfan]

Please note (to anyone who read Part VIIIa before the afternoon of February 11), that only Minerva's brother Murdoch was present at lunch. I discovered that I had typed "Malcolm" twice when I meant to type "Murdoch"--apologies to anyone I may have confused! (BTW, I don't mind people pointing out continuity errors, or things that may have confused them!)

--MMADfan

[MMADfan]

aurinko said:

Minerva's family is wonderful! Her mother's advice was pretty much how I'd imagined it. I loved her brother and his little song for her! Your family dynamics are amazing. I can definitely see that happening; perfectly in-character all around. Post again soon?

Thanks! And yes, I'll try to post at least one more part today.

[osusprinks]

I loved Minerva's family. Her mother and the backstory about her parents was great! I'm looking forward to more!

[MMADfan]

osusprinks said:

I loved Minerva's family. Her mother and the backstory about her parents was great! I'm looking forward to more!

I'm glad you liked them! I hope you enjoy the next part, which is the last one before we join Minerva as she takes her restorative bath. Much of this story is retrospective so far, since we are learning what has brought Minerva and Albus to this point. It will gradually become less so, and we'll also see a lot more direct Minerva - Albus interaction. I'm about to post the next installment. Hope you enjoy!

[MMADfan]

This installment has been divided in two because of the length.

Part IXa: Meeting at Madame Puddifoot's

Minerva and Melina met, as agreed, outside of Scrivenshaft’s and took a few moments to glance at the quills they had on display in the window. The two had turned to leave, when, behind them they heard a familiar voice.

“Ah, Fortune must have smiled upon me today! Two lovely McGonagalls!”

The two turned back to see Albus emerging from Scrivenshaft’s with a surprisingly large package, considering the kind of wares Scrivenshaft’s sold.

“Professor Dumbledore!” exclaimed Melina happily. “I think it is we upon whom Fortune has smiled –or, at least, on me–Minerva gets to see you every day. This is an unexpected pleasure!”

“And how are you, Miss McGonagall?” asked Dumbledore. “Or should I say ‘Healer McGonagall’?”

Minerva started at hearing “Miss McGonagall,” then realised, almost simultaneously, that he had been addressing Melina, and not her.

“Oh, I’m very well, Professor. I’m in Edinburgh now, at the clinic, finishing up my programme. In June, you shall be able to call me ‘Healer,’ if you wish!”

“Of course I will, Miss McGonagall; after all, you have worked very hard these last years to earn that title. But I do hope you aren’t neglecting any patients today, strolling the streets of Hogsmeade with your aunt?” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Melina laughed. “In fact, Professor, we just got here, we were–”

Minerva cut her off, worried that Melina was about to tell Albus about their afternoon up to that point, and she really preferred that he didn’t hear all the details Melina might launch into. “We were just meeting Poppy Pomfrey at Madame Puddifoot’s in a few minutes, Headmaster.”

Albus grinned. “Well, Professor, please don’t let me keep you from your tea. I have heard she serves an excellent trifle.”

“Perhaps you could join us, Professor,” invited Melina. “Or I suppose I should call you ‘Headmaster’ now!”

“I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your 'girls’ afternoon out.'” Albus smiled. “And ‘Professor’ is fine, Miss McGonagall, unless you wish to call me ‘Albus.’”

“I don’t know if I could manage that, Professor, but please don’t feel you would be intruding! Although I am sure that you have other, more pressing business at Hogwarts than taking tea with three witches.”

Minerva looked on, unsure of whether she should encourage Albus to join them, or scold Melina later for inviting him, or both. “I’m sure you’re right, Melina. The Headmaster is a very busy man.”

“Nothing would delight me more than having tea with three charming witches; however, I do need to be elsewhere shortly. I am afraid I have a prior engagement.”

After a few more pleasantries, they took their leave, and Minerva hustled Melina down the pavement. “Really, Melina, we will be late to meet Poppy. Standing in the cold in front of Scrivenshaft’s, detaining the headmaster from his business, was not why we apparated to Hogsmeade.”

Melina laughed good-naturedly. “Come on, Min, he spoke to us first! It would have been rude just to walk away, and I know you do not like to be rude. And what was it with all this ‘Headmaster Dumbledore’ business? Do you always address him so formally? I thought you liked him–wasn’t that one of the reasons you took the job?”

“Hush! Heavens, Melina! Do you possess no discretion by now? We were in public. It is only respectful to address him appropriately. When he called you ‘Miss McGonagall,’ well, it was as though I was speaking to him in front of a student, or something, I suppose. And, as I said, we were on a public street. Which we still are, until we enter this establishment, at which time, we will still be in public. Do you know what that means, Melina?” asked Minerva as they approached the door to Madame Puddifoot’s and paused.

“Um, that I should address you as ‘Professor McGonagall ma’am’?” asked Melina cheekily.

Minerva restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “Don’t be fresh. That is not what I meant, and you know it. Although if you could remember my name is ‘Minerva’, I would appreciate it.” With that, Minerva opened the door to Madame Puddifoot’s.

She didn’t know when last her senses had been so assaulted. There was a cacophany of pink everywhere, from loud, shocking pink to pale petal pinks, the colour saturated the entire tearoom.

“Get a move on, Min - erva! It’s cold out here,” Melina said, prodding her aunt gently in the back.

“This has got to be the most atrocious room I have ever been in,” whispered Minerva to her niece, as they stood looking around for Poppy. They finally found, her, tucked behind one of the entirely improbable bushes that the proprietress had scattered between the tables–no doubt thinking that they lent a romantic atmosphere. In Minerva’s opinion, however, they were ugly to the point of putting her off her tea. The bush that concealed the matron’s presence had variegated pink and white leaves, and small red buds that appeared to be miniature butterflies, gently flapping their petals like wings. Some kind of mutated flutterby plant, perhaps, unless it had been charmed pink. Minerva shuddered, and wished she could sit with her back to it, but that was the seat that Poppy had chosen.

As introductions were made, and tea requested (Minerva ordering the trifle, although it wasn’t one of her preferred desserts), the surroundings receded a bit, although Minerva maintained later that she found the flapping petals too distracting to properly concentrate on her food. Poppy and Melina took to one another immediately, as Minerva had hoped they would, and after the two had shaken their heads with amazement that their paths had always just missed crossing–first at Hogwarts, where Melina entered her first year in 1946, and Poppy had left in 1945, then at St. Mungo’s, where Melina had begun her training in 1954, just months after Poppy had left there to return to Hogwarts. Both had been Hufflepuffs, and, between their shared experiences at school and the hospital, the two had many friends in common. Soon the conversation turned to the recent scrofungulus outbreak in Edinburgh, Melina explaining that that was one reason she had two days off in a row.

“None of us had a break for three solid weeks, Poppy. I’m sure you know what that’s like. So Healer Boneset decided we all deserved a little time off. We drew lots, and I was the lucky one to get the weekend.”

Minerva, glad that Poppy and Melina had so much in common and hit it off so well, was still beginning to feel a bit like one of the bushes, though not as conspicuous.

“I do hope you are not about to begin discussing scrofungulus again, Melina. I had quite enough of that at lunch without having it disturb my appetite now, too.” Minerva said with a light smile.

Melina chuckled. “I don’t know how you could have overheard much, with Grandmother Egeria putting you through the wringer like that.” She took a sip of her hot tea.

Poppy turned to Minerva and said, “Let me guess. She was ‘discussing’ your social life again.” Poppy seemed to think this quite funny.

“Don’t you laugh, Poppy, since your social life was under scrutiny, as well!”

Poppy seemed to swallow her tea the wrong way. Before she knew it, Melina had cast a quick charm, and she had stopped choking. “Thanks, Melina! What do you mean my social life?” Poppy was somewhat indignant.

“Well, not your social life, so much as your lack of one. Mother found it a pity that you were meeting me for tea and not a gentleman friend. She saw it as a sign that we both lead a cloistered existence at Hogwarts.”

“What! Even if I were seeing someone, who’s to say that I wouldn’t meet you for tea?”

“Grandmother’s notion is that you two are so isolated up at the castle, that if you had an afternoon off, you would be spending it doing something with someone of the opposite sex – something far more fun than having tea in Hogsmeade.” Melina waggled her eyebrows suggestively and giggled.

“Melina McGonagall, you know that’s not what she said!” Minerva cried in mock outrage.

Melina giggled again and licked up a bit of pink icing. “Maybe not in those words, but it’s what she was thinking. And certainly what she was implying. ‘You should have more joy in life, Minerva’ – and you know she wasn’t talking about the intellectual pleasure of solving a knotty problem in Transfiguration.”

Minerva turned almost as red as the obnoxious little blossoms that seemed ready to flit from their stems. “She just wants me to be happy, is all. Since you seem to have listened to our conversation, you probably are also aware that she told me she doesn’t care if I ever get married!” Minerva seemed to think that declaration would end the conversation, but she was mistaken.

“No! Really, your mother actually said that? But I thought she was always trying to get you to meet people, wizards, in hopes of getting you married off!” Poppy was glad the conversation had been so neatly deflected from her social life back to Minerva’s.

Melina laughed out loud at that. “Oh, don’t make any mistake there, Poppy. Grandmother still wants Minerva to meet the right wizard – and make whoopie, as the muggles say – she just doesn’t care if she gets married to do it!” Melina was clearly taking pleasure in Minerva’s discomfiture.

“Well, who are you to speak, Miss Melina I’m-always-too-busy McGonagall! You’re younger than I am – you’re supposed to be sowing your wild oats, or gathering them, or whatever it is that young witches do. I don’t see you off with some ‘gentleman friend,’ as mother would put it, on your first Saturday free in weeks.”

Minerva expected to get a rise out of Melina with her words, and was surprised when Melina just blushed and fiddled with her teacup.

“What haven’t you told me, Melina?” Minerva asked. Poppy wondered if she should excuse herself to use the little witches’ room, but then decided this was too much fun.

“Well, Min,” Melina took a deep breath, “you see, that was one of the reasons I wanted to see you this afternoon. I wanted to tell you about Brennan.”

“I see,” said Minerva slowly. “And who is this ‘Brennan’ and what did you want to tell me about him?”

“Brennan O’Donald. I met him a few months ago at a play. It was the intermission, and we’d both gone to the bar set up in the lobby to get a drink. We’d both ordered the same thing, and the bartender had thought we were together and that it was the same order, so he only made one. When he put it down on the counter, Brennan and I both reached for it at the same time, knocking it over, and making a mess. We just laughed about it at the time; he bought us each a drink, then the intermission was over. I didn’t think about him again, honestly, but then I was at a concert one afternoon –one of those free ones they have at the museum– and I heard a voice behind me asking if I’d care for a drink. I turned around, and there he was. We chatted a bit, then we found seats next to each other. We didn’t make any arrangements to meet again, but we did, anyway, a few nights later, at another concert. Well, as he said, three times is the charm, so he invited me to go to dinner with him after the concert. We’ve been seeing each other ever since.”

“I gather from what you say that these have been muggle concerts. It’s rather a coincidence, don’t you think, that you and this wizard should keep meeting at these muggle events, and you have never met him otherwise? Have you considered the fact that, well, there’s something wrong with him, and that he deliberately followed you and met you at these places?”

“No, it never occurred to me that there is anything wrong with him! He’s not some strange masher, Minerva. It is perfectly normal that I never would have met him anywhere else before, since he is not a wizard.”

[MMADfan]

Part IXb: A Complicated Situation

Both Poppy and Minerva were silent.

“He’s very nice, Minerva! I want you to meet him. I need you to like him. Really.” As she pled with her aunt, Melina suddenly looked very young to Minerva.

“Oh, darling Melina, I’m sure he’s very nice. But dear, what have you told him? Surely if you’ve known him a few months, it’s been getting more than a little awkward, never being able to bring him home, or have him pick you up.” Suddenly Minerva had an alarming thought. “You haven’t told him you’re a witch yet, have you Melina?”

“No, no! What do you take me for, Minerva? I have a friend at the clinic who has a flat in muggle Edinburgh. He picks me up there. Jennie has even put an extra bed in her little study and lets me keep a few things there, so it looks as though I live there. Brennan keeps saying I should get a place of my own –he’s even offered me a job, since my excuse is that I only just moved to Edinburgh and can’t afford my own place yet. He seems to think I’ve spent too much money on attending concerts, and that I should be saving for a flat, so he won’t ever let me pay for my own tickets anymore. He insists that’s how it should be, anyway, and that he wants to treat me like a lady.”

“I wonder how he’d feel if he knew his lady was a witch, though,” asked Poppy, saying something for the first time in a while.

“Oh, he’s wonderful, Poppy! I know he wouldn’t mind. It’d probably be confusing, at first, but as long as we didn’t do anything too startling at the beginning, I really don’t think it would be a problem. We have so much in common. He’s a chemist, and he even owns his own shop. That’s how he was able to offer me a job, you see. He thinks that I’d been studying pharmacology in London, and had to move to Edinburgh for family reasons.” Melina sighed then, and said, “You are right, Minerva, it has been difficult keeping so much from him. If dad didn’t live above the apothecary, I might even be able to bring him home, if we had Quimpy stay hidden. But he couldn’t even see the apothecary, let alone enter McTavish Street, because of the Muggle-repelling charms. And if he did see the apothecary, that would possibly be even worse. I just don’t think I can continue seeing him and making up stories like this, Auntie Min, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Minerva couldn’t remember the last time her niece had called her “Auntie Min.” With just a little over a decade separating them, they were actually closer in age than she and Melina’s father, Murdoch, were.

“Well, Melina,” said Minerva, patting her hand comfortingly, “I know it is hard to stop seeing someone whom you care about, and thinking of the right excuse, but – ”

Melina broke in, “That’s not what I mean at all, Minerva! I need to find a way to stop lying to him, without sounding like I’m off my rocker and without breaking any of the Muggle Protection laws.”

“Well, then, you’ll have to marry the bloke,” said Poppy briskly. “Spring wedding, perhaps?”

“What!” exclaimed Melina. “But I’ve only known him a few months. I don’t think either of us is thinking in that direction yet. He hasn’t even met my father yet. He’s nervous enough contemplating that without my suggesting marriage. And I cannot marry him under false pretenses, him thinking I’m just another muggle, then finding out after it’s too late that I’m not.” Melina finished her anguished lament and put her head in her hands.

“We understand that, Melina, but why do you think there are so few magic-muggle marriages? Not only do we rarely mingle enought to meet, but it is simply too risky to inform a muggle about our world only to have it turn out that the muggle and the witch or wizard go their separate ways, leaving the muggle with dangerous knowledge of us,” explained Minerva. “And faced with a choice, most witches and wizards, confronted with the option of continuing to weave ever more complicated fictions about their life and waiting to see if marriage is down the road, or leaping feet first into the cauldron and marrying a muggle they don’t know particularly well, most decide to break off their liaisons.”

Melina, looking even sadder, clarified, “It’s not a liaison.”

Poppy, thinking of something that Melina had said, asked, “Why is he nervous to meet your father? I know most young men are a bit nervous about it, but have you made up some terrible story about him, as well, to explain why he hasn’t met him yet even though he’s right there in Edinburgh?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that, well, muggles are a little peculiar, is all, about age. To us, a difference of a decade or two is nothing, but apparently he’s afraid that dad will think he’s ‘robbing the cradle,’ as he put it.”

“My word, Melina, how old is he?” asked Poppy, envisioning a wrinkly old geezer lusting after a fresh young witch.

“Not that old! I keep telling him that, but he keeps saying he’s almost twice as old as I am. I tell him that just means that he knows how to treat a lady right.”

“Oh, well, that’s all right, then. I was just picturing some ancient muggle drooling all over you, and it gave me the creeps,” replied Poppy.

“No, it’s not all right, Poppy!” exclaimed Minerva. “How can you say such an irresponsible thing? The man is a muggle, for heavens sakes –and I like muggles as much as the next witch– but it is complicated. Not wrong, please don’t misunderstand me, Melina. Not wrong, just very complicated. It only becomes more complicated by the fact that he’s older.” Minerva held up her hand, silencing Poppy and Melina. “It’s not that he’s an older man, but that he’s an older muggle. Muggles become less and less open-minded as they get older, although I suppose that could be said of anyone, but worse than that, muggle men have very short life expectencies. Why, you two could marry next week, and it would feel as though you had just turned around and -poof!- he’s dead!”

Melina looked stricken and speechless at Minerva’s words.

“Come, now,” said Poppy forcefully, “it’s not as bad as all that! How old is Brennan, then, about forty?”

“Thirty-nine,” said Melina miserably.

“Piffle! That’s nothing! He has decades left! You’ll outlive him, no doubt, barring something unusual, but that’s to be expected, anyway. Witches often outlive their husbands. And some go on to marry again, some don’t, but I doubt that their opinion on whether they should have married or not in the first place rests on when their husbands died–no, it would depend on the kind of husband he was. And think of it, Melina, Minerva: any of us could die tomorrow in an accident, or we could contract some terrible, incurable disease, or something. There’s no guarantee for any of us that we will live to see the next day, is there? But do we say, 'oh, there’s just no point in doing anything because we may die tomorrow?' No! Because we may die, we live in the meantime!”

Minerva played with the trifle left on her plate. “You know, Melina, I think Poppy’s right,” she said slowly. “I simply worry that you’ll be unhappy, or that you’re borrowing trouble. I can’t help it; I care about you.”

Melina sighed. “I know, Minerva. And it’s not as though I wasn’t aware of everything you’d said, I was just trying to avoid thinking about it all. To me, the worst part has been making up the stories, and I was hoping you would have an easy solution to that.”

“No, I don’t. Do you, Poppy?” When Poppy shook her head, Minerva continued, “Let me think about it for a while, though, and do a little research. In the meantime, have you told your father yet? No? Well, then I think that’s the first thing you should do. Then I think you should have them meet–maybe dinner in a nice restaurant; Murdoch should still fit into his good blue suit. Then have Brennan bring you back to that flat, and have your father go home on his own. Fortunately, Murdoch is good at mingling with muggles, and if you’re in a public place, there shouldn’t be too much opportunity for either of you to slip up and say the wrong thing. I do wonder what you’ve told Brennan your father does for a living, though.”

Melina blushed a bit. “I told him he’d been a chemist in London and he’d been sacked for incompetence so he's living off of mother’s insurance money and please don’t be mad at me dad will be already!” she finished in a rush of breath.

Minerva just looked at Melina expressionlessly, then she burst out laughing. After a moment, the other two witches joined her.

“Oh, my, Melina, you never fail to disappoint!” chuckled Minerva, trying to catch her breath and wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall when you tell your dad that one!”

“Hmm, Melina, how much have you actually told Brennan about your father’s supposed sacking?” asked Poppy.

“Not much, really. I act like it’s an uncomfortable topic for me, and he doesn’t press. I don’t want to make up so many details that he gets curious and asks around in London about him. He must know other chemists who work there. It could wreck everything if he finds out that I’m lying to him about that. I’ve already had to be evasive about my supposed coursework in London. Fortunately, I’ve done enough reading in muggle medicine to be able to sound like I’ve done a term or two.”

“Well, suppose you tell him that it wasn’t your father’s error, but that he took the blame for some other chap who had a young family to feed, or something? That he believed it was a one-time error the young man had learned from, and he didn’t want him and his family to suffer from it for the rest of his life, hmm? I hope you didn’t make it a deadly error.”

“Oh, no, I said that he’d just put the wrong dosage on a bottle and the patient hadn’t taken enough and so had gotten sicker until the doctor discovered she’d not been getting enough medicine.”

“Well, that’s not so bad, then,” said Poppy. “But now we really need to be going. None of my charms have gotten warm while we’re sitting here, but it’s already dinnertime at the castle, so we should be getting back.”

“Hmm, I’m surprised that after a Hogsmeade weekend, no one has eaten themselves sick on Honeydukes’. I doubt the students will be eating much dinner tonight, and they’ll be so tired, they might not have the energy to get into any trouble!” added Minerva, as they called for their bill.

“What are your charms, Poppy?” asked Melina, trying to see them from across the table.

“Ah, Professor Dumbledore gave them to me after he became Headmaster. He always felt, you see, that I was far too tied to the castle, even when no one was ill, since accidents can happen anytime. Whenever I did want to get into town, I had to let the deputy, which he had been, as you know, have a list of places I was going and when I was going to be at each of them. It rather puts a damper on an afternoon of shopping if I have to schedule how many minutes I spend in each store! On top of that, I never felt easy about leaving for more than a few hours at a time. With this charm bracelet, however, I can be contacted at any time I leave the Hogwarts grounds.” Poppy held out her wrist to display her bracelet. “The cauldron means there’s been some kind of potions accident, the wand means there’s a spell involved, the broom means it’s an accidental injury, since so many of those involve Quidditch. If the hat gets warm, it’s a student; if the book does, it’s a staff member. And the feather means that it’s an extreme emergency.”

“Why a feather?” asked Melina as they were leaving the restaurant.

“Because birds fly, I suppose,” Poppy replied.

The three set off down the main street, Melina saying that she’d walk with them as far as the Three Broomsticks, since she planned to floo home from there, rather than apparate for the third time that day. The three women walked through the new snow that had fallen while they had been in Madame Puddifoot’s, and chatted, Melina saying she’d take Minerva’s and Poppy’s advice, and owl them both soon. As they neared the Three Broomsticks, they could see two people emerging from it, and the warmly lit room beyond. One of the two figures was clearly that of Dumbledore; the other was a witch. As the two turned to head toward the castle, the witch seemed to slip a bit in the snow. The headmaster’s hand reached out and caught her before she fell, then he crooked his elbow, offering an arm, which she took.

“He’s still the same, sweet, gallant Professor Dumbledore, then,” said Melina with a smile, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

“You’ve only been gone from school a few years, Melina, what did you expect? That he’d grown an extra head and begun spitting in the streets or something?” asked Minerva irritably.

“What’s gotten into you, anyway? I just meant that it was good to see him earlier, is all. And seeing him just now reminded me.”

Poppy, thinking to avert some kind of odd family squabble, intervened, saying, “It’s nice to see the headmaster take some time for himself. He rarely does. I don’t know how his health hasn’t suffered for it yet. I do wonder, though, that both he and Gertie could be gone from the castle during dinner. He’s usually fairly insistent that one or the other of them attend every meal–preferably both. Professor Gamp is his new deputy,” Poppy explained in an aside to Melina.

“Well, it’s just none of our business, is it? We don’t run the school, or monitor their lives. And I happen to know that each House is having supper in their individual common rooms tonight, as a special treat after the Hogsmeade weekend. I know because Horace and Wilhemina were complaining to Professor Gamp about it,” said Minerva, looking more closely after the couple, and seeing that Poppy had been correct about the identity of the second party. “They said it was always extra work for them to monitor the common rooms when they did that. I got the impression that Wilhemina would just as soon never win a Quidditch game, because she has to stay up too late to monitor the Gryffindors' victory parties.”

They had reached the Three Broomsticks and Melina paused, looking up at the two women beside her. “I know it’s late for you, but do you have time for one drink before I leave? Please?” she wheedled.

Poppy hesitated. A warm butterbeer would taste nice on a night like tonight.

“No, Melina, I’m sorry, Poppy and I have to get back up to the castle. Just because I had the day off doesn’t mean that I didn’t leave a lot of work behind. And I think I’ll stop by Gryffindor House and see if Grubbly-Plank wants a hand.”

“All right, Min. Thanks so much, both of you, for listening to me, and for the advice. I just hope I don’t screw things up too badly.” Melina hugged her aunt hard, who returned the embrace warmly, then turned to Poppy and gave her a quick hug, too. “I’m so glad Minerva finally introduced us. We’ll have to get together sometime and talk about all of the boring and disgusting things she didn’t let us talk about this afternoon!”

Minerva smiled, and Poppy laughed, saying she’d love to get together sometime when their schedules allowed, then added that Melina was welcome to stop by the Hogwarts infirmary anytime she had a free afternoon – she might have to set her to work, if it was busy, but she was welcome, in any case.

“I’d like that, Poppy!” Melina smiled happily at her new friend.

“Well, then, I’ll just ask the headmaster to put you on the list of permanently approved guests –unless you’d prefer to do that, Minerva?”

“No, no –she’s a Healer-trainee and coming to see you; I think you are the more appropriate person to make that request. Although if you don’t stop by and visit me, I shall be gravely injured!” Minerva added to her niece.

Melina laughed and gave her aunt a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying into the warmth of the pub behind her. The other two continued their walk up the street in the direction of Hogwarts.

“Want to apparate to the gates?” asked Poppy. “It’s bloody cold out tonight.”

“You could do a warming charm, if it really bothers you,” Minerva said somewhat absently. “But, no, I think I’d like the walk. But you go ahead, if you want. It’s been a busy day, and I wouldn’t mind a quiet walk up to the castle, honestly.”

“Well,” Poppy hesitated.

“Go on ahead, really. Unless you’ll take offense, in which case, don’t. I’m happy to have your company, but I won’t mind if you go on ahead.”

“All right, if you’re sure. See you tomorrow at breakfast, then?” Poppy asked, knowing that her friend really wouldn’t mind the frigid walk up to the gates.

“Probably. I do have a lot of work to finish for Monday, so I may just have a cup of tea in my room.”

“Okay, then. Don’t dawdle, though, it is too cold!” With that, Poppy apparated the rest of the way to the gates. It was too dark for Minerva to see her up ahead; she could barely make out the dim lanterns that hung on either side of the gates.

She continued her walk, glad for the silence. As the snow began to fall again, she wondered what it was that was bothering her, for something was. She was annoyed about Poppy’s remarks about the headmaster and Gertrude, but about something more, too. . . . She wasn’t going to think about it, she decided; after all, it was she who said what Dumbledore did was none of their business. Besides, it was probably just Grubbly-Plank’s attitude that bothered her. She’d been the Gryffindor Head of House for over a year, and she still didn’t seem to know all their names. This despite the fact that she taught all of the second through fifth years every year, meaning that she only had to learn the names of the ten first year students, since she either had taught or was teaching the other sixty or so. Not only that, but she had left the last Quidditch match early, and it had been Gryffindor - Slytherin; it had been a tight match, until the Gryffindor Seeker had caught the snitch in a daring dive. When the players looked around for their Head of House, she hadn’t been there. But Minerva had stood and cheered and waved a Gryffindor banner. She may not have endeared herself to the Slytherins in that moment, but it seemed that the Gryffindors had warmed toward her a bit more.

Minerva didn’t want to misjudge the woman, but she really didn’t think that Grubbly-Plank was cut out to be a House Head. She was quite a competent teacher, by all accounts, although she hadn’t been the Care of Magical Creatures professor until the year after Minerva had left, so she didn’t know from personal experience. Yes, she would definitely stop by Gryffindor House and see if she could help. She’d go see Wilhemina first, of course, if she were in her rooms. She didn’t want to offend her, after all.

With that decision made, Minerva finished her trek across the grounds to the castle. She’d stop by Gryffindor, then grade some essays before bed. In the morning, she could unpack her bag of goodies and start decorating her classroom. Minerva felt quite cheered as she tramped through the new snow toward home, thinking about the various things she had packed away in her bag, and ignoring the little niggling voices that repeated, 'I have a previous engagement' and 'both he and Gertie . . . gone from the castle during dinner', until they had faded completely.

Next: we return to Minerva as she returns to her quarters for a restorative bath, and peek in on her thoughts about Albus and her feelings toward him. (We get a little sad and angsty again, but it won't be too bad, I promise!)

[MMADfan]

Just want to let everyone know that I've begun posting this story over at ff.net. I will only be posting a few chapters at a time, and all updates will be posted here first, since you guys are so terrific!
FF.net will always be a few days behind, but will benefit from a little more format editing, and a few other very minor edits. It would also be a little easier to re-read it there, rather than here.

[MMADfan]

Part Xa: Spero et Expecto

As Minerva entered her quarters, whispering her password, alvarium album, her heart felt heavy, her eyes burned, and her throat was dry. She would follow Poppy’s advice and take a warm bath, but she should have thought to ask her for a calming potion, or at least a light cheering charm, Minerva thought. Sighing, she knew that either of those would have only provided temporary and artificial relief. She shed her outer robe, draping it across the small bench in front of her vanity, and went into her bathroom to draw her bath. While not as elaborate as the Prefects’ Bath she had used during her last years as a student, it was still lovely, with pretty tiles lining the walls, depicting various scenes from wizarding history –most focusing on the deeds of witches, she had realised several days after arriving at the castle that winter.

The tub had several taps, each with its own control that could be adjusted either manually or with a wand. She bent and adjusted the hot and cold taps to fill the tub, then turned to the other spigots lining one side of the bath. Whilst she normally chose rose-scented bathoil in the evening, and a bright, bubbly citrus mix in the morning, today she adjusted the lavender and rosemary taps to lightly scent her water.

Having done that, she returned to her bedroom and called out, “Blampa!” The house-elf popped in.

“Is Miss Professor Minerva ma’am wanting anything? Blampa very happy to serve the Professor ma’am!” Blampa was practically quivering with joy at having been called. The other house elves had teased her, and told her she must not be a very good house elf, because her new Professor hardly ever called her for anything.

“Yes, Blampa, please. I would like a large pot of hot tea. Orange pekoe, strong. And milk, no sugar.”

“Oh, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am!!! Blampa be’s so happy to bring the Miss Professor her tea!” At this, Blampa actually jumped for joy. “But wouldn’t Miss Professor like some nice honey with her tea? Very good honey, Blampa knows. And very good for sore heart and sore throat, Miss Professor ma’am!”

Minerva stiffened. ‘Sore heart and sore throat,’ she thought. ‘What does that creature know? There are far too many of them in the castle; who knows what they talk about down in those kitchens.’ “Why would you offer me honey, Blampa? I asked for no sugar.”

Blampa’s mood seemed dampened by Minerva’s chilly tone. “But honey is only sweet like sugar, but good, for tea when a witch is sad. Blampa knows, Blampa sees many sad witches and wizards feel better when they drink tea with good honey. Blampa feels Miss Professor might like good honey with Professor’s tea, too.”

Minerva relaxed. Of course, Blampa had simply sensed that Minerva was not herself that morning.

“Very well, Blampa. Bring the honey with the tea–but don’t put any in it! I shall be in the bath. You may bring it to me there.”

“Yes ma’am Miss Professor!” replied Blampa, quivering again in anticipation of being able to serve.

“Thank you, Blampa, that will be all.”

Blampa popped out, and Minerva returned to the bathroom, where the taps had automagically shut themselves off. Minerva shed her shoes, socks, underrobe, chemise, and knickers, dropping them to the floor by the door. She sighed and stepped into the warm bath. Although it was early July, and her rooms were warmed by the afternoon sun, the castle still seemed somewhat chilly to her. She conjured a soft terry-cloth pillow and leaned back against it. Just as she was beginning to run through the events of the morning in her mind again, Blampa reappeared, a large tray hovering in front of her. In addition to the tea, Blampa had brought a plate of shortbread and one of ginger newts.

“Thank you, Blampa, but I only asked for tea.”

“Blampa want Miss Professor Minerva to be happy. Miss Professor Minerva likes shortbread, and ginger newts are very good for Miss Professor, and taste happy, too.”

Minerva, never having tasted anything “happy” before, decided not to argue with Blampa. She’d had sufficient unpleasant encounters for one day, she thought.

“Thank you, Blampa.”

Blampa popped out again, and Minerva reached over to the tray, which still hovered at a convenient height. She poured a little milk in the bottom of her cup, following it with the steaming golden tea. After only a moment’s hesitation, she added a small dollop of honey, and stirred it. Just as she was taking her first sip, Blampa popped back in again, startling her.

“Goodness, Blampa, you startled me! I didn’t request anything else,” she said, eyeing the pile of fluffy towels floating behind the house elf.

Blampa’s eyes filled with tears. “Blampa want to serve Miss Professor Minerva. Blampa want her Professor happy!”

Minerva groaned internally. Infernal house elves! The McGonagall house elves didn’t have all of these annoying habits–Fwisky would box the ears of any elf who started to cry over nothing, and none of them spoke in that irritating manner, speaking of themselves in the third person, never addressing a witch or wizard with “you.” No McGonagall would have stood for it very long.

“It’s fine, Blampa. You merely startled me. I wasn’t expecting you. If you cry, I shall be very unhappy, Blampa!”

Blampa stopped her sniffing and gave a watery smile.

“There, now, that’s better. I see you’ve brought towels. You may leave them over there before you go.”

“Yes, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am.” Blampa had begun quivering slightly again.

“That will be all for this morning, Blampa. Please do not come in again today until I call you.” Minerva knew she had to be specific about that, because after arriving at Hogwarts in December, she had once told the elf not to return until she called her, and Minerva became puzzled as to why her laundry was piling up in its basket and it didn’t appear her rooms had been cleaned. She called Blampa to ask her why, and Blampa began moaning and weeping, saying that she was waiting until she was called. “Blampa waits, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am. Blampa waits and waits.” Since then, Minerva always specified how long Blampa was to wait before returning uncalled for.

“That will be all, Blampa. And thank you for the tea. It is very good.”

Blampa apparated away in the midst of jumping for joy at her Professor’s praise.

(I've broken Part X into a few sections, because of its length. Hope you enjoy!)

[MMADfan]

Part Xb: Spero et Expecto, continued

Minerva leaned back again, sipping the tea and relaxing into the warm bath water. Talking with Poppy had helped a lot, she thought, but she still didn’t know what she would say or do the next time she saw Professor Dumbledore. Albus, she corrected mentally. Shortly after she’d left Hogwarts, he had insisted that she address him by his first name. He had suggested it before, during her sixth year, saying that he wouldn’t mind her using his first name when they were in private –after all, he’d reasoned, she was of age, and they were working closely together on several projects. She had politely declined at the time, for reasons that she didn’t give him, saying instead that she didn’t believe it to be a good habit to get into when she would need to remember to address him properly in public for the next year and a half. He hadn’t pressed the issue, although he did seem a little disappointed.

Minerva sighed and stretched in her bath. It was a lovely tub, charmed to keep the water at its original temperature without its occupant having to keep casting warming spells. Nonetheless, Minerva rarely soaked for long. She finished her first cup of tea, then poured another, again adding a dribble of honey. After a few sips, she thought that tea with honey and a warm bath did help one to relax enough to deal with one’s problems. Just as she thought that, however, her words rang back at her, mockingly, ‘Fuck Albus Dumbledore. And fuck his stupid beard, too!’

Her eyes filled; she pressed her lids shut, and hot tears trickled down her cheeks. How could she have said such a thing? She set her teacup back on the tray and let out a sob. Despite what she’d said to Poppy, she knew it was not only about respect. She never allowed herself to think about It, to consider It, to examine It, or, God forbid, develop any hopes about It, but It was there. It was the way she felt about Albus. It was the way being near Albus made her feel. It was the way just knowing him made her feel. It had never been defined, not since she’d first become aware of It. She avoided It, avoided not only thinking about It, but also feeling It, as far as that was possible. Whenever It emerged, she would tamp It down vigourously. As she’d gotten older, that had become easier, until she’d arrived at Hogwarts to teach. Over the previous ten years, It had never gone away, though It seemed to slumber occasionally; but then she would see Albus again, or receive an owl from him, and she would be come acutely aware that It was still there, no matter how much she wished It weren’t.

Over the first years that Albus was her Transfiguration Professor, she had got to know him as well as any student could know her teacher at Hogwarts, and better than she knew any of the others. He nurtured and encouraged her. Under his tutelage, she had been able to explore all of the topics in Transfiguration that fired her imagination and excited her intellect, and with his guidance, she had made continuing leaps of progress. As the years went on, the muggle war in Europe raged hotter, and the wizarding war escalated to the point where even the most isolationist British wizard recognised that not only the Continent was threatened by the mad wizard Grindelwald, but England was, as well. Not to mention that as the muggle war continued, wizarding Britain was becoming effected by it, too.

[MMADfan]

Part Xc: Spero et Expecto, continued

It was during her fifth year, then, that Minerva first saw Albus as something other than just another grown-up and Hogwarts teacher. He had cancelled their Friday afternoon tutorial meeting, explaining that he had business away from the school to attend to, as much as he would prefer to stay and meet with her. She nodded her head, eyes round, thinking of the rumours whispered amongst the students, that their Professor Dumbledore was involved in the War Effort, and that the Ministry was relying on him to find Grindelwald and stop the War. The first time that Minerva had heard that rumour, her heart had swelled with pride that it was her Professor Dumbledore upon whom the Ministry was relying. After a while, however, that pride had become worry, as she saw him arriving in the classroom looking more and more weary. He was rarely seen at breakfast or dinner anymore, and was never to be found on weekends, even when there was a Quidditch match; although he hadn’t yet missed a Gryffindor game, and he cheered just as enthusiastically as ever, he had always arrived just as the match began, and left as soon as it was over.

So when he told her that their Friday afternoon tutorial was cancelled, she swallowed bravely, and said, “That’s all right, Professor. I’ll revise on my own. And there are some second years who have been asking me for my help on their Transfiguration homework. May we use your classroom?”

“Yes, you certainly may, Minerva,” Albus twinkled. “In fact, I doubt that we will be able to continue our Friday afternoon sessions for a while. Please feel free to use the classroom. I will set a password for you, so you may use it at other times, as well. What would you like the password to be, my dear?” he asked with a smile.

“Spero et expecto,” Minerva replied, thinking of her hopes for the War, and her worry for her Professor. It seemed appropriate, to hope and to await, both the end of the War and the return of her Professor Dumbledore.

“Very good, my dear; spero et expecto it shall be. I trust you to use the classroom responsibly, of course, but do try not to miss curfew, if at all possible,” he said, smiling at his star pupil.

Minerva blushed, thinking of the time a few days before when he had found her at two o’clock in the morning, slumped over a book in the library. She had promised Madam Perlecta that she would only be a few minutes, and the genial old librarian made her promise to close the door tightly before she left, in order to reset the overnight wards. She really hadn’t meant to stay so long, but when Minerva became engrossed in a book, a blasting curse wouldn’t disturb her; she was like her father that way. So it was that at two o’clock in the morning, she woke to a very dark library, Professor Dumbledore gently brushing her hair from her cheek and calling her name softly. He had escorted her back to Gryffindor tower, but only after retrieving some hot chocolate for them both from the kitchens. Once their hot chocolate had been brought, mounds of whipped cream floating on top, Dumbledore dismissed the house elves.

Minerva had noticed earlier that Dumbledore was wearing a traveling cloak, a dark brown affair with an attached hood of the same colour, and a pair of dark brown boots. What was even more unusual about his attire than the drab hue, however, was the fact that he was wearing trousers beneath the cloak, and when he pushed back the cloak to sit at the kitchen table, she could see what appeared to be a muggle Army uniform. She couldn’t help but goggle at it.

“So do you like my choice of outfit, Miss McGonagall” he had asked softly, but with a gentle smile.

“Um, it’s all right.” Minerva blushed. What should she say? “Did you transfigure it?” That sounded stupid to her own ears, but Albus answered her quite seriously.

“No, my dear, it is quite genuine. Of course the rank and the right to wear it are somewhat counterfeit, but the Prime Minister believed that providing me with it would be useful at any times I would need to work with the muggle forces.”

“Who? The Prime Minister? You mean Churchill?” Now Minerva goggled even more. Even the wizarding world had heard of Winston Churchill, and his speeches were broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless at the same time as they were on the muggle wireless. There was some speculation about his geneology, and whether he had wizarding blood, for certainly his words were more stirring than one would expect of a mere muggle.

“Yes; it is not reported in the Daily Prophet as much as one would expect, but the Ministry has been cooperating with the muggle government more closely in the last few years, as both have come to realise that our fates are bound. Minister Clypeus has asked me to work directly with the Prime Minister, since the fewer in the muggle government who know of the wizarding world, the better, since someday, this war will end, one way or another.” Albus sighed at that, but then looked up at her and smiled. “Miss McGonagall! You have a lovely white mustache! You should add a beard, however, to complete the effect.” With that, he dipped his finger into the whipped cream melting on his hot chocolate, and swiftly reached across the table and deposited a dollop of it on her chin.

Minerva laughed then, and wiped her face clean with her napkin. “Although I would like to emulate you in every way, Professor Dumbledore, I fear that a beard and mustache will never suit me as they do you!”

They both chuckled and finished their hot chocolate. Something occurred to her just then.

“Professor Dumbledore, the uniform is a very good idea, but none of the soldiers I’ve seen have beards. Didn’t the Prime Minister think of that?”

Albus chortled. “Indeed, he did, my dear. He insisted I shave and cut my hair.” Minerva was aghast at that. She couldn’t imagine her Transfiguration Professor without his long auburn-and-grey beard and his flowing hair. “But never fear! A simple wave of my wand convinced him that such a drastic step was unnecessary.” With that, Dumbledore demonstrated, waving his wand. Suddenly, on the other side of the table sat a shaved and shorn British military officer. At first she thought he had used an elaborate glamour to change his entire appearance, but then she realised that it was still her Professor Dumbledore, just with short hair and no beard. His features were still the same, those twinkling blue eyes, the sharp nose. She could now see that he had a well-formed jaw, and a slight cleft in his chin. Somehow, his forehead seemed higher, now that his beard was gone and his hair closely cropped. Minerva stared in fascination.

Dumbledore chuckled at her reaction. “Recognise your old professor, Minerva?”

“Of course, sir! Um, I was wondering, don’t the muggles usually have hats with their uniforms?”

“Ah, yes, my hat.” He reached into the deep pocket of his cloak and drew out a very small hat. Tapping it with his wand first, to restore it to its normal size, he settled it onto his head. He then shed his cloak altogether and stood at attention. “What do you think of the effect, my dear? Do I pass inspection?”

Minerva giggled, then got up from her seat and walked around the table, where she looked him up and down. In as military a fashion as she could muster, she said, “Very good, er –” she paused. “What’s your rank?” she whispered.

“I’m a general,” Albus whispered back.

“Very well, General Dumbledore,” Minerva continued, circling him, looking him up and down. “Your tie needs straightening. And don’t neglect your boots; an army is only as good as its boots!” Minerva had no idea where that had come from; probably the film she had seen with one of her muggle-born classmates when she had visited her a couple years ago and gone to the cinema for the first time. It had been made to encourage the civilian population, and was filled with heroic, handsome English soldiers, and evil, nasty Germans.

They both laughed at that, and for a moment, Minerva thought he would have looked well in such a film. He could play one of the experienced soldiers, delivering rousing speeches of encouragement and leading his men into battle . . . that thought had her freeze. Her amusement fled. Albus sensed her change in mood as he removed the hat, shrunk it, and pulled his cloak back over the uniform.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked gently.

“You don’t have to go into battle, do you, leading muggles through trenches or anything?” Minerva tried to remember what she knew of muggle warfare, and none of it was good.

“I wear this uniform so that I can order muggle troops to move away if they are in imminent danger of entering an area of wizarding conflict, and so that I can be taken seriously when I have intelligence about German troop movements. It would likely be disastrous for me to lead any muggle troops, as my expertise is not in muggle battle tactics.” Albus replied quietly.

Minerva tried to feel reassured by his words, and now that he had covered the uniform with his cloak and removed the glamour, restoring his beard and hair, he looked more like her Professor Dumbledore. It still sounded as though he was not doing anything particularly safe. She had always envisioned him sitting in an office in the Ministry of Magic, telling people what to do and where to go, pouring over maps and performing locating charms. This sounded rather different from that.

“But you still have to go into dangerous places, don’t you?” Minerva asked sombrely.

“There is danger all around us, Minerva. And it will only grow if those of us who are able do not do what we must in order to stop it. Come now, it is past time for you to be asleep. I think you should try to sleep late in the morning, and skip your first class. I shall inform your professor.”

Minerva giggled at that as they walked toward the kitchen exit. “You are that professor, Professor!”

“Ah, am I? I shall have to have a word with myself, then,” Albus said with a mild twinkle.

They walked silently back up to Gryffindor Tower. Just before they reached the portrait, Albus laid his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Minerva - ”

“Professor, thank you for the hot chocolate, I appreciate it. I will be sure not to mention it, or our conversation, to anyone. You found me in the library and escorted me back to Gryffindor Tower.” Minerva hesitated. “Shouldn’t you give me detention, sir?”

“You are the soul of discretion, my dear. I think that I shall be, as well. No need for a detention. But do try not to fall asleep in the library again.”

She promised dutifully, and went upstairs to bed, resolving that she would not miss her Transfiguration class that morning. If Professor Dumbledore could be there after being up so late, so could she.

[Trulyamused]

Wonderful parts. I love the bit in the kitchens with 'General' Dumbledore'. The story's coming around nicely as we get some background.

Again, well done.

Truly

[MMADfan]

trulyamused said:

Wonderful parts. I love the bit in the kitchens with 'General' Dumbledore'. The story's coming around nicely as we get some background.

Again, well done.

Thanks, Truly! I really appreciate the comments, and I'm glad you're still enjoying the story. There will be a bit more posted tonight. I think you'll like that, too.

-MMADfan

[MMADfan]

Part XI: Chez Albus

Minerva reached for a bath sponge, remembering that evening in her fifth year that she had seen Albus Dumbledore as more than the seemingly omnipotent grown-up he had been to her. Dipping the sponge into the water, then squeezing it and watching the water stream back into the bath, she recalled the details.

It was late on a Sunday, not long after he had created the password to his classroom for her. She had retreated to the classroom after realising that she wouldn’t get any work done in Gryffindor Tower, and, not wanting to bother Madam Perlecta to keep the library open later than usual on a Sunday, had decided to lug her books down to the Transfiguration classroom to study. She was also a little bit worried about Professor Dumbledore, though she could not share that fear with anyone, since she didn’t know who else the professor had trusted with the nature of his work for the Ministry.

Minerva’s view of Professor Dumbledore had been gradually shifting since that night in the kitchen. Her initial fears for his safety when she’d seen him in that muggle uniform had subsided, only to be replaced by new ones. Always the diligent student, she had studied the various wizarding wars discussed in the History of Magic class, but, as her interest had always tended to the practical application of magic in charms and transfiguration, she had not read beyond what was required by Professor Binns. Frankly, she had always found her history class boring, just the recitations of dates, places, and peculiar names; it was nothing like she’d expected from her childhood conversations with her father. Her father’s own interests, of course, were not martial, and the stories he’d always told her were of witches and wizards who had found amazing new solutions to previously intractable problems, or who had done incredibly stupid and dangerous things in search of such solutions.

Now, however, Minerva suddenly became intensely interested in wizarding wars. She read all she could, including several first-hand accounts by wizards who had fought in major battles and lived to tell about it. Minerva knew that the war with Grindelwald was unlike the Goblin wars of the seventeenth century, as there were no battlefields with large armies arrayed on either side. In that way, the current war resembled more the small skirmishes that had arisen at the same time as the muggle Hundred Years War. Wizarding factions had allied themselves with muggle factions, or simply manipulated them to their own advantage, and engaged in small, but exceedingly nasty, skirmishes.

On the other hand, the current conflict with Grindelwald was completely different from any the wizarding world had encountered in many hundreds of years, because there was a single, powerful wizard gathering forces to himself with the aim of subjugating the entire wizarding world, rather than the various power-hungry wizards who had fought amongst themselves for priority during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. It had been fairly easy for the general wizarding populace to ignore what in retrospect seemed like petty internecine rivalries in those days, since they were not directly involved in them. In much earlier times, prior to the eleventh century, the rise of a power-hungry wizard would also lead to revolt and conflict, but Minerva could learn little of any battles. Such megalomaniacs appeared to be dealt with on a more personal level, with duels to the death (the challenger usually dying bravely and celebrated in song), or by poisoning–to greater or lesser degrees of success.

Despite the fact that Minerva found no exact parallels between the war with Grindelwald and any previous conflicts, she read with grim fascination and horror all the descriptions of wizard battles that she could find in the dusty old tomes of the Hogwarts library. The battles she read of ranged from duels between two wizards, to large battles, with many wizards and witches fighting on both sides. Despite the nightmares that began to plague her sleep, she felt driven to discover what terrors faced a wizard in battle. Visions of decapitation, disembowelment, and bodies writhing in pain as their internal fluids boiled, haunted her sleep. Finally, being an essentially practical child, Minerva had given up her quest to learn more of such dreadful conflicts, and the damage that curses could wreck on the human body. She needed to sleep without constant nightmares, after all.

She turned her attention, instead, to reading The Daily Prophet every morning at breakfast, shutting out the cacophany around her. No one seemed to notice that she had exchanged her classnotes for the newspaper, and no one questioned her choice of reading material. She discovered from Madam Perlecta that the Hogwarts library subscribed to the London Times, although it arrived a day late. Apparently it was a rather recent subscription, and, generally, Madam Perlecta informed Minerva, only a few of the faculty ever looked at it. Minerva was welcome to read it, as long as she didn’t remove it from the library.

The coverage in the Times both enthralled and repelled Minerva. It was with morbid fascination that she read of bombs, fighter aeroplanes, and death. She wondered if the wizarding world was really aware of what the muggle world was going through, but supposed it must be different in London, since it would be difficult to ignore the effects of the blitz on the large city around them. The siblings of some of her muggle-born classmates had been moved to the north of England that autumn in order to escape the falling German bombs.

So, although Minerva tried to study, sitting there in the dimly lit Transfiguration classroom that spring evening, she thought more of the professor who usually taught there than of her upcoming OWLs. She was about to give up for the night when she heard a movement outside the door. Instinctively, she felt for her wand. When the door opened, however, outlined by the stronger lights behind him stood Professor Dumbledore.

Minerva could still remember how her breath caught in her throat as she saw her professor sway wearily before he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Ah, Minerva! I had not expected to see you here this evening.” Albus’s voice sounded strong, but Minerva could see that he was still leaning heavily on the door handle, and he had let his bag drop to the floor with a thump.

“Professor! Are you all right?” Minerva stood, unsure of whether to hurry to his side or to remain where he was.

“I’m fine, my dear. Merely tired, and a little worse for wear.” Dumbledore bent and retrieved his bag, then straightened and walked towards her, coming into the light shed by her single candle.

Minerva thought she’d never seen anyone she knew look so awful without being ill. “Professor, what are you doing here? You should be in bed, or in the infirmary!” Her alarm at his appearance overcame her natural reticence to tell an adult what they should do.

“As this is my classroom, and my office is beyond it, it should not be a surprise that I am here. As to why, I believe that I have forty essays to read before tomorrow, as I promised them to the second year class last week.” Albus ignored Minerva’s suggestion that he should be in bed.

Minerva went to his desk and pulled his chair out for him. Albus gave her a little smile. “Thank you, Miss McGonagall. I do believe we need more light, however.” He waved a hand, and the sconces closest to them lit up.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but you look awful. I know it’s not polite to say it, but you do. Are you hurt anywhere?” Minerva was determined that, if he were, she would fetch the mediwitch, regardless of her professor’s instructions.

“No, my dear. Well, I did catch a spell or two–now don’t fret, child–but they were glancing blows, nothing to signify. I am only a little tired. I shall be fine once I have some dinner.”

Minerva called the house elf she had seen bring Dumbledore dinner before, “Wilspy!” She only wondered for a second when the house elf actually responded to her call–she had thought she’d have to call several times, since she was a student, and house elves rarely answered to students.

“Yes, Miss Minerva? Can Wilspy serve?”

Without thinking, Minerva said, businesslike, “Yes, please bring the professor some dinner. He will have vegetable soup, roast beef, creamed spinach, mashed potatoes with gravy, and pumpkin juice; for dessert, you will bring him hot peppermint tea and custard.”

At that point, a somewhat bemused Albus, interrupted, “Bring two dinners, Wilspy. I don’t like to eat alone,” he added, with a smile, to Minerva.

After the house elf had apparate away, Albus grinned at Minerva, “So, Mother McGonagall, what determined tonight’s menu? All your favorites?”

Minerva rolled her eyes, suddenly becoming a little girl again. “Of course not! I don’t even really like roast beef much. I just thought it would be good for you,” she finished seriously, “bring your strength back. And I noticed you eat creamed spinach, but never eat it when we have it plain, and my mother always says spinach is revitalising. And after a heavy meal, you shouldn’t have a heavy dessert; custard also has eggs in it, so it’s good for you.”

Albus chuckled softly. “I am fortunate, then, that you were here upon my return, or I might have eaten something unsuitable, such as cheese toast and chocolate biscuits.”

Albus was teasing, but Minerva never minded it when he teased, and he did seem to appreciate her ordering dinner. “Well, sir, you should wash up now, since she’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Right you are, Mother McGonagall,” he replied with a smile. Albus rose and went through his office to the small washroom Minerva had known was there, but had never used. She never even attempted to enter the professor’s office when he wasn’t there, let alone use his washroom. Instead, if she needed to go to the loo, she would close up the classroom and walk to the far end of the corridor to the girls’ bathroom, then return.

Albus stepped out of his office, drying his hands on a linen towel. There were certain things he still preferred to do without magic, washing his hands was one of them. His face was pink and slightly damp, and Minerva thought his hair looked less tousled, as well.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Miss McGonagall? Wash up! You don’t need an invitation, you know. It’s not a four-star establishment.” Albus grinned at her impishly.

Minerva smiled and walked past him into the tiny bathroom. There was a toilet to the right of the door, and a small sink to the left of it. Several clean towels hung on the wall, courtesy Hogwarts’ house elves, no doubt. Minerva washed up quickly and rejoined her professor in the classroom to find that he had transfigured a classroom desk into a small dining table, and two of the chairs into ornate dining chairs with cushions and arm rests. Apparently the linen towel was now a tablecloth, and one of the sconces had become a candelabra.

Albus stood when she entered the room, and pulled her chair out from the table for her. “It may not rate four stars, but we do what we can to make a lady welcome at le Restaurant chez Albus!” he joked as he pushed gently on the back of chair.

Minerva giggled softly. She wondered when Wilspy would return with the food. She felt a little awkward, despite the fact that she had studied with Professor Dumbledore for almost four years, and had eaten more than one meal with him in this very classroom. “Um, Professor? May I ask you a question?” Minerva didn’t generally preface her questions with a request for permission, especially not when in a classroom, but she could see that her teacher still looked weary and distracted.

“Of course, my dear, always.” Albus paused. “I may not always be able to answer them, though.”

“It’s not that sort of question, at least I don’t think it is,” Minerva said. “It’s just that, even as a prefect, I usually have to call a house elf a few times before one responds, and it is usually not the one I was calling. Why did Wilspy come when I called her?”

“Ah, other than the fact that you are a charming witch?” Albus asked. “I asked her to keep an eye on you while you were in the classroom.” At Minerva’s expression, Albus could see that she was on the verge of taking offense. “Only to keep an eye out for you, not to report on you to me. I just wanted to be sure that when I’m not here, my dear, there’s someone who knows where you are, just in case anything happens –an accident, or something.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then, I guess,” said Minerva. “But I’m very careful. And I wouldn’t do anything in here while you’re away that you wouldn’t approve of.” Minerva blushed, thinking of the kind of advantage some of the girls would take of an empty, password-warded classroom.

“I know that, Minerva, that’s why I trusted you with your own password.” At that, their dinner arrived, unaccompanied by any house elf, just popping into place before them. “You know, don’t you, that you may also access my office with the same password.”

“Really? I never tried that,” said Minerva, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice.

“No? Well, please feel free to use the washroom, or to read any of the books. I don’t keep any of the dangerous ones in the office. I trust you not to remove them without permission, of course, nor to give others access, or I wouldn’t have let you use the classroom at all, my dear.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Their conversation subsided as they ate. Minerva wasn’t particularly hungry, having had her own dinner earlier in the evening. Albus, on the other hand, ate steadily, but seemingly without enjoyment. Minerva watched him as he ate, and thought how tired he looked, and wondered what curses had grazed him, and who had cast them. Would they have a lasting effect, despite his nonchalant attitude?

After Albus had started his dessert, eating with the same silent concentration with which he had eaten everything else, Minerva poured him some peppermint tea.

“Thank you, Minerva. I am sorry I haven’t been particularly good company.”

“Oh, don’t be, sir! But really, I can’t help but worry a little about you.” Minerva hesitated, not sure how much to say. Well, he hadn’t taken offense yet. “Do you know what curses, um, grazed you? Are you sure that you aren’t injured?”

“Yes, and yes. Do not worry about me. Worry about your OWLs. I assume that was what you were studying for this evening?”

“Yes, Professor. But I am still concerned. You know that you could return the essays later in the week. I doubt that more than a few of the students are that concerned about them, anyway, and you look as though you could fall asleep on your feet.”

“I am tired, but I shall at least start reading them. They aren’t long.”

“Perhaps I could help you, then? I’ve been helping a few second year students with their work, so I’m familiar with what you’ve been covering with them. Please let me do something.”

Albus looked at her speculatively, then said, “All right. I shall give you a few of them to read. On a separate sheet of parchment, you shall write the name of each student, followed by comments on their work. As I said, it’s only a short essay, ten inches, on the difference between the intention required when transfiguring natural inorganic substances and that required when transfiguring an inorganic artifact.” Rising from the table, he transfigured it back into a student desk, sending the candelabra back to the wall to resume its duty as a sconce. He picked up the towel, which had also returned to its original form, and disappeared into his office. When he reappeared with a sheaf of parchments, he handed her five of them.

Without further conversation, the two set to work. Minerva actually enjoyed writing comments on each essay. She finished the third student essay, then looked up at Albus, ready to share an amusing error she’d just read. Instead, she stopped as she drew her breath, unsettled by what she saw. Her professor was simply sitting, gazing into space, eyes unfocused and clouded over, quill held loose and idle in his right hand. Minerva stood, went to him, and removed the quill from his hand.

“Professor, Professor. You should go to bed. Really. I will finish these and leave them for you in your office. It won’t take long, and it will be fun.” She saw that there were bright tears gathered in his eyes, unshed. Tentative, she placed a hand on his shoulder, and said even more softly, “You need some sleep if you are to teach tomorrow, sir.” Minerva wished she could say something comforting, but she had no idea what that might be. Any circumstances under which he would have been grazed by multiple curses could not have been good.

Albus turned toward her slightly. “Thank you, Minerva. I believe you are right.” He stood then, and she let her hand drop. “I am sorry, my dear,” he said.

“Sorry? Please don’t be, Professor. After all you have done for me, the least I can do is read a few essays for you,” she said briskly, trying to behave as though she hadn’t just seen tears in the eyes of her favourite professor. She didn’t want him embarrassed. “Besides which, by helping you, I’ll feel as though I’m doing what I can for the war effort.”

Albus’s eyes brightened again, this time without tears. “Ah, contributing to the war effort – well, Miss McGonagall, I shall deputise you, for tonight, anyway, to assist me. But you must not neglect your studies–your OWLs results will determine which classes you may take at NEWT level, and you know that I believe it important that you continue in Arithmancy, as well as Transfiguration, Defence, and Charms. As well as any others of your choice, of course.”

Ah, here was her Professor Dumbledore back again.

“Yes, sir. I’m studying hard; don’t worry about that.”

Albus wrote something on a scrap of parchment and handed it to her. “In case you are not back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew, as I believe you are not on the Prefect Patrol list for tonight.” With that, he picked up his bag, bade her good-night with a small smile, and left. Minerva worked diligently for the next few hours, writing her comments for each essay on a separate parchment, and adding recommended grades at the end of each set of comments. When she was done, she looked at her results, and thought a moment. Then she picked up the note that Dumbledore had written for her and examined it, refreshing her memory. She then went through the student essays and, using her wand, transferred her comments to each parchment, charming her hand-writing to look like her professor’s. She did not add any of the recommended grades, however, deciding that this operation had been risky enough, as it went far beyond what he had asked her to do. She then pulled a fresh parchment from her bag, and wrote him a note:

“Dear Professor Dumbledore:

I hope you had a restorative sleep. I have taken the liberty to charm my comments onto the student parchments, in your hand. It is a simple charm, and I am sure you will have no trouble reversing it if my comments are inappropriate; I hoped to save you some time, however, so please forgive me if I have made any more work for you by doing this. I have included suggested grades on the original sheet that contains my comments. I do not vouch for their accuracy.

Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to help.

Sincerely,

Minerva M. McGonagall”

She placed the corrected parchments on his office desk, her letter on top of them, then closed the office door, gathered her books, and left for Gryffindor Tower. She had no need to use the note that Professor Dumbledore had given her, for she met no one on the way. She slipped it into her Transfiguration textbook when she returned to her dormitory. As she fell asleep that night, she remembered the unshed tears in Albus’s eyes, and resolved to do what she could to make his life easier, recognising with a sigh and a yawn how little that probably was.

Next we see when a new awareness came to Minerva, and It snuck up on her and made her life difficult.

[Trulyamused]

Very, very nice. I love Chez Albus.

I'll be waiting for the next part. Get some sleep first, dearie.(grin)

Truly

[MMADfan]

trulyamused said:

Very, very nice. I love Chez Albus.

I'll be waiting for the next part. Get some sleep first, dearie.(grin)

Yeah, I do have the problem of losing track of time when I'm writing.
And I definitely need sleep!

Isn't Albus sweet?

[elivania]

So I've just spent the last hour reading your posts and I'm now going INSANE to read more. I love what you have written so far. Amazing stuff. I do hope you continue tomarrow as I need something to recover from my horrible Modern Political Thought class.

Thanks so much for sharing your great work!
*Eli*

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

So I've just spent the last hour reading your posts and I'm now going INSANE to read more. I love what you have written so far. Amazing stuff. I do hope you continue tomarrow as I need something to recover from my horrible Modern Political Thought class.

Thanks so much for sharing your great work!
*Eli*

Thank you so much for your kind words!

You have my sympathies--Modern Political Thought? The mere name of the course makes me shudder! I hope I'll have something for you this evening to help you recover from the class--and keep you from going "INSANE"! ;D

-MMADfan

[Gemmie Lou]

am loving this cant wait for more xxx

[MMADfan]

durc09 said:

am loving this cant wait for more xxx

Thank you! A new installment will be up shortly.

[MMADfan]

Part XII: Restoration and Reflections

Fifteen years later, Minerva stretched in her bath, and wished that she still felt only that youthful desire to assist her favourite professor. She shook her head, stood, and stepped from the tub, reaching for one of the fluffy white towels Blampa had brought her. Distractedly, she dried her legs, then drew the large towel around her loosely. The ends of her long black hair were wet from floating in the bath. Summoning her wand, she dried it reflexively.

Minerva served herself the last cup of tea from the pot, this time with no honey. After taking a sip, she set her cup down on the bathroom vanity and looked at herself in the mirror. Even after her bath, she could see how Blampa had known that she was not herself that morning. Somehow, between the time she had left her rooms that morning and the time that she had returned, she had developed puffy circles under her eyes, and she was sure that her face must have been blotchy red. Although she hadn’t cried much, the tears she had wept, and those left unshed, had made their mark on her face.

Minerva wet a flannel with cold water from the sink and patted her face and eyes with it, wanting to have her face return to normal as much as possible before taking any more drastic measures. She drank a swallow of tea, and brushed her hair out, regretting the drying charm that had left so much static in it. As she finished brushing her hair, she saw the plates of biscuits that Blampa had brought. Well, she was feeling a bit shaky, still, and had only had tea and a crumpet for breakfast. A biscuit might do her good. She reached for the shortbread, her favourite, then hesitated and picked up one of the ginger newts that Blampa had claimed tasted “happy.” Good to have something happy here, since she wasn’t, thought acerbically. She bit into the biscuit, discovering it to be hard on the outside, but chewy with molasses on the inside. Hmm. As she chewed, the spices warmed her tongue and tickled her palate. Sweet, but warmly spicy, and both hard and soft. Was that what Blampa considered a “happy” taste? She had eaten them before, of course, but had never developed a particular liking for them. Munching on a second ginger newt, she carried it and her teacup into her bedroom, where she set the cup and saucer on her dressing table and considered what she should wear.

As she removed knickers, chemise, and stockings from the drawer in her wardrobe, she thought again of the words Albus had overheard her say that morning. Now, she had moved beyond merely being mortified that he had heard them, and worrying about what he would think of her, to worrying even more about how he had reacted, and whether he had been terribly hurt. She sat on the edge of the bed, putting her underwear down beside her. The towel slipped from her shoulders, and she pushed the damp cloth to the floor. She didn’t usually simply drop her clothes or towels on the floor, heedless, but today, she was too tired and preoccupied to banish them to the laundry basket.

Minerva flopped back, legs dangling from the edge of the bed, and thought about Albus. Albus, who had been nothing but good to her since she was a child. Poppy said that when she’d uttered those now-despised words, Albus looked like a little boy whose pet crup had died, and who was trying not to cry. Thinking of that undid any good the cool flannel may have done, as tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head and looked at the afghan that lay folded at the foot of her bed. The afghan had no particular home: sometime on her bed, sometime on the settee in her small sitting room, sometimes draped across the back of a chair, but always nearby.

Minerva reached out a hand and gently stroked the soft wool of blues, greens, and greys. It had been a very thoughtful present, typical of the giver. They had had such a nice evening when he had given it to her. She sobbed, thinking that she had probably ruined their friendship that morning with her inability to hold her temper and with her extremely ill-chosen words. Pulling the afghan toward her, she hugged it to her, and great, racking sobs began to shake her body. Rolling to her side, she pulled her knees up, and wept as she hadn’t wept in many years. How could she have hurt him like that, the man she loved so much?

Her tears subsided. She accio’d a handkerchief, scrubbed at her face, and blew her nose loudly. Less than a half hour until lunch. She couldn’t arrive in such a state. Remembering Poppy’s words about looking like an accomplished, composed witch, she dragged herself off the bed, shaking out and refolding the afghan, sniffling only a little as she did so. She pulled on her underwear, grateful for the automagically adjusting support charm on her chemise. Initially, she had thought it an extravagance, since what witch can’t cast a support charm, but it had been a gift from Melina, and she soon grew to appreciate the convenience of not have to cast the charm every time she dressed, and had since acquired a few more. This one was the prettiest, though, a thin white batiste with enough lace and eyelet to be feminine, but not so much as to be gaudy, and tiny mother-of-pearl buttons all down the front. It was also cut low enough so that she could wear it with any of her robes, not just her teaching garb.

Sitting at her vanity, Minerva summoned her wand from the bathroom. Looking at her blotchy, swollen features, she decided she’d deal with her face last. With a few waves of her wand, she had her hair pulled back and twisted into a tight bun at the back of her head. Minerva sighed. Too tight, too severe. And Minerva had a splitting headache. Another wave or two, and she had done away with the bun, and replaced it with a very loose French twist, held in place with a few charmed hairpins. It wouldn’t stand up to a Quidditch match, even in the spectators' stands, but it would stay in place well enough.

Minerva went to her wardrobe and pulled out a lightweight robe of a pale, mossy, greenish-grey. The loose sleeves, which belled slightly at the wrist, and sweetheart neckline made it more comfortable at this time of year than most of her teaching robes, which she’d bought in the dead of the Scottish winter. The skirt fell fairly straight from the waist, then gently flared below the knee. Over this, Minerva drew on a sleeveless red tartan overrobe. She fastened the three braided frogs, then turned to look in the mirror. No, no, all wrong. Tossing that one on her bed, she chose instead a sleeveless robe of green tartan linen, with no fastenings. Almost as long as the other robe in the back, in the front, it fell open across the breast then cut away from the waist in a sweeping curve. It would have to do, she thought, looking in the mirror. She raised her wand and cast a few quick charms, reducing the puffy redness of her face and concealing what couldn’t be eliminated.

Perched on the edge of her bed, Minerva pulled on each stocking, which were charmed to stay up without garters, then summoned her soft, pale brown shoes. Slipping her shoes on, she decided that she couldn’t afford to think about It at the moment, since she would be seeing Albus shortly. With a long, shaky sigh, she realised she would have to think about It sometime soon, though. She did not want to. But it now seemed that the ramifications of not dealing with It were worse than whatever conclusions she might draw at the end of her examination.

She might need to leave Hogwarts, one way or the other, but Poppy was right: she couldn’t simply flee in a panic. If she were to leave, it had to be for very good reasons. One uncontrollable outburst was simply not enough. Unless Albus thought it was. Remembering again Poppy’s description -like he was “trying not to cry”- brought a lump to her throat again. She doubted that he would fire her for what she said, or even for his hurt feelings, but what if he decided that he couldn’t work with her after that? What if every time he saw her, he remembered what she’d said, and was hurt all over again?

Minerva could curse herself for having injured him, and possibly done irreparable harm to their friendship. If only It hadn’t insinuated Its unwanted, inconvenient, and inappropriate presence so many years ago, and then had the ill-grace to settle down and make Itself at home . . . .

Note: I was wrong -- the next part introduces us to It.