Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[Hogwarts Duo]

You have a way of writing that allows me to visualize the scene in my head easily, which is fantastic. I could see and hear their voices in my head and could feel Albus' pain in my heart as he tried to keep positive for Carson.

Another wonderful addition to the story and I am very interested to see what happens when Minerva arrives on the scene.

[Trulyamused]

I've just caught up. Great work.

The last part was excellent. It conveyed all the emotions present perfectly.

Truly

[MMADfan]

Thanks, Truly & Hogwarts Duo! I really appreciate the positive comments!

[MMADfan]

Note: There's more of this to come -- "Seeking, Two" -- but I don't know when I will be able to finish it and post, so I thought I'd put this bit up for you. I hope you enjoy it!

Part XXXII: Seeking, One

Minerva waited nervously those last minutes in the conference room, thinking of the two wizards who were awaiting rescue somewhere in the cold French countryside, both of whom she cared for deeply, but whom she loved in very different ways. Frankel returned, now dressed as a muggle, and Sprangle bustled in behind him.

“Now, for your final briefing, Miss McGonagall,” began Sprangle, “I will only remind you that Auror Frankel is in charge of this search mission. You are only there to assist him in locating the two wizards. As a cat, you may be able to sense things that he is unable to without using his wand. Because of certain, shall we say, dangers, Auror Frankel is going to minimise his wand-use on this mission. In addition, in your Animagus form, you may be able to traverse a path that would be unavailable to Auror Frankel; therefore, if he permits it once you have arrived at your destination, you may go on ahead of him, and return to him once you have discovered the direction the two wizards took. Under no circumstances are you to tear on ahead after them and leave Auror Frankel behind, forcing him look for you as well as the two wizards. The current mission is difficult enough without his having you get lost, too. In addition, should you happen upon the wizards before Auror Frankel arrives at their location, you are not to reveal yourself to them, but you must stay in your Animagus form and return immediately to Auror Frankel. If Auror Frankel is nearby and will arrive shortly, you may remain with the wizards, but you may not reveal yourself to them. You are only to return to your natural form when you are ready to Portkey back. In an emergency, if you need to communicate with Auror Frankel, raise your right paw and shake it at him. He will then let you know whether it is safe to transform and speak with him. You are not to make such a decision on your own. I believe I have answered any questions you may have had.”

“Actually, Auror Sprangle, you haven’t. First, what ‘dangers’ are you referring to when you speak of Auror Frankel’s wand-use? Second, you have not given me my return Portkey, nor have you shown me the Portkeys for Professor Dumbledore and Carson Murphy. If something should happen to Auror Frankel, I should know what the Portkeys are. I also do not want to be stranded in France without a Portkey of my own.”

“As to your first question, I have desired not to alarm you unduly, Miss McGonagall, but as you seem determined to question my judgment regarding what information you need to know and what information is extraneous, I shall answer it as far as I believe wise, under the circumstances.” Auror Sprangle was clearly unhappy with the young witch standing before him. “There are reports coming in that there are German soldiers in the area. We know that Grindelwald has a few, shall we say, operatives, engaged in activities to the south of that location. In addition, we know that the Dark Wizard has placed his own wizards in strategic positions within the German military and the secret police, the Gestapo. It is possible that he is aware there has been magical activity in the area, or that there were wizards wounded in the explosion who are unaccounted for. He may believe that they have all Apparated or Portkeyed away, since the American Muggle reconnaissance party indicated that, although there were bloodstains and tracks near the vehicle, there were none leading anywhere off the road. Nonetheless, we must be prepared for the possibility that the area is being observed either by Grindelwald’s own wizards, or by German soldiers acting unknowingly on his behalf, under orders from one of Grindelwald’s plants.” Auror Sprangle completed his explanation with a furrowed brow, clearly disturbed by the information he was imparting, although Minerva couldn’t tell whether it was the nature of the information that disturbed him, or the fact that he was telling her.

“And my second question, Auror Sprangle,” she prodded.

“Ah, yes. Auror Frankel will be carrying your Portkey, and the others, with him. When you are ready to return, he will ask you to transform back into your normal form, and give you your Portkey.”

“Auror Sprangle, that is unacceptable! As I said, anything could happen once we arrive – you have said yourself that the area may be watched. He may not be in a position to hand me the Portkey if there is an emergency; we may become separated, or even the amount of time it would cost me to Transfigure back to my ordinary form and take the Portkey from him might prove a liability. And you haven’t told me of the other two Portkeys, so that I might identify them.”

“I am sorry, Miss McGonagall,” replied Auror Sprangle, although he looked anything but sorry, “but I cannot accede to your request to carry your own Portkey. Although there is some truth to what you say, I believe those risks to be minimal, and we are concerned that your Transfiguration into your Animagus form will effect the Portkey and render it useless. Our specialists have no experience with those effects, and we dare not risk it. They thought you might wear the Portkey in your Animagus form, although Auror Frankel correctly pointed out the inadvisability of your wearing a belled collar when you are both trying to go unnoticed.”

Minerva winced. These were the men the wizarding world was relying on? Whoever would have thought of such a daft idea? She would no doubt break the collar when she Transfigured back to her ordinary form, even if the thing didn’t have a bell – the stupidity of it! – and that would be more likely to have a deleterious effect on it as a Portkey than her simply putting it in her pocket and Transfiguring herself while carrying it.

“I think they were amused at the thought of creating a Portkey for an Animagus, Miss McGonagall. They are not part of our clandestine units, and therefore perhaps may be forgiven for their attempt at humour,” said Frankel. “And I do not know what Auror Sprangle’s thoughts are regarding your request to see the Portkeys, but I believe it is a reasonable one – I have been in the field a long time, Septimus,” he added to Sprangle, “and I am very aware that no matter how well one prepares, the undesirable, and the unanticipated and unprepared for, can occur.” He reached into his right trouser pocket, pulling out a Muggle pen and a small, buckled, red cloth collar with a bell on it. “These two objects are your Portkey and Professor Dumbledore’s. The trigger word is set to ‘spero’ for them both – in an unusual flash of common sense, they thought to shorten the trigger word in order to hasten the activation. My own Portkey is the cheap St. Christopher medal around my neck. It is, however, like Professor Dumbledore’s original Portkey, tuned to my magical signature, whereas the ones for you and Dumbledore may transport any of us – you, him, me, or Murphy – but no one else. In addition, those Portkeys have been set to enable us all to transport by just one of them. Therefore, if necessary, we could all hold onto your collar and Portkey together.”

“There’s no separate Portkey for Carson?” asked Minerva.

“No, although either you or Dumbledore may share your Portkey with him. It is probable that, if he still lives, Murphy is unconscious and would be unable to initiate the Portkey, and one of you will have to transport with him, in any case. The Portkeys created for you and Dumbledore return you to this room, which shall have an Auror present at all times, waiting for you. My own brings me to Headquarters in Amiens, whence I can Apparate or Portkey to London.”

Minerva didn’t like any of this, but it was too late to have another Portkey made, or to try and convince Auror Sprangle to let her keep her Portkey in her pocket.

“One last thing, Auror Frankel. What will you say to any Germans who find you? You are clearly a civilian, in France, and you don’t speak French. I assume your German is fluent, but won’t they wonder at your presence? And don’t you have an accent?”

“I am going to say that I am visiting a French cousin. I speak enough French to be able to maintain the pretence that I visit this cousin often, and was trapped there with the Allied invasion. Of course, with so little civilian travel, they will be suspicious, but I am rather adept at a wandless Imperio, and if there aren’t too many of them, I should be able to convince whomever is in charge of the truth of my story, and have them leave me be. I am carrying German identification papers, as well. My greatest concern is that they will believe them to be counterfeit, and that I am a Jew trying to escape from the Nazis. Which I am. Jewish, I mean – I was born and raised in London. Of my Muggle-born German mother’s side of the family, however, only my aunt and two of her children survive, Miss McGonagall.”

Minerva, growing even more concerned with this latest revelation, asked, “Wouldn’t it have been wise, then, to send someone else along? Someone who does speak French?”

“We have determined that the fewer who are engaged in this search, the better, Miss McGonagall. We do not wish to raise the suspicions of Grindelwald’s agents any more than they already might be. Dumbledore must not be captured,” Auror Sprangle responded.

“All right, then. I see that the plans have been laid, and all has been set in motion. I do wish I had been consulted earlier, though. I may have been able to contribute some useful ideas, despite my lack of training. What is our outbound Portkey?”

Sprangle pulled a small brown bottle from his pocket. It looked to be the sort of thing Muggle patent medicines came in, thought Minerva.

“Well, I guess more talking only delays our search. Auror Frankel, though, please address me as ‘Minerva,’ particularly when I am in my Animagus form. It might strike an eavesdropper as strange if you were calling a cat ‘Miss McGonagall’ – well, in France, anyway!” she said, trying to smile.

“Very well, then, Minerva, if you would kindly transform, we can leave now – and I am Philip – although the name in my German identity papers is Hans Bredel.”

Minerva quickly morphed into her Animagus form and allowed Philip to pick her up. She wondered briefly what it would be like to Portkey in her Animagus form, then closed her eyes as the Auror took hold of the Portkey and said, “Expecto.”

Note: I hope the story continues to please!

[elivania]

I hope the story continues to please!

You're hopes are fulfilled. Amazing addition. You have really captured Minerva in her usually frankness and frustration of not being told all that she needs to know. What dunderheads they are. Not willing to give her her own porkey...*shakes head* idiots.

Awsome job as usual and I look forward to the next installment! *Eli*

[Aurinko]

Oh, yay, another update! I love this story and your writing style is awesome. The part with Carson is especially interesting and...poignant, I guess. You can't help but like the poor guy. And am so very very much looking forward to 'Searching, Two'...when do we get to find out what happened to Ablus? Your Sprangle person is perfectly hate-able, too. Update soon?

[MMADfan]

I am glad the story continues to please!

-MMADfan

(P.S. I'm glad that little pot-bellied, mustachioed Sprangle has inspired some revulsion -- he may be an auror, but he's basically a bureaucrat, and a rather annoying one, at that -- well, I suppose all bureaucrats are annoying on some level! )

[MMADfan]

Part XXXII: Seeking, Two

Well, that couldn’t have gone much worse than it did, thought Minerva as she picked her way amongst the tree roots and fallen branches, stopping to sniff the air every now and then, or nudge a bit of fallen foliage with her moist nose. She should have known that Sprangle’s plan was a recipe for disaster. Scrimgeour, for all his pomposity, had been correct about that.

They had barely arrived, and Frankel had put Minerva down and nudged her, waving her to go on ahead and see what she could see, or smell, or what-have-you, when the mission went south, at least as far as Auror Frankel was concerned. Minerva had proceeded toward the wreckage, which, although it could not be seen from their arrival point several hundred feet down the road, was easy for Minerva to locate. The smell of the explosion and ensuing fire were still very heavy in the air, especially so to her heightened feline senses. As she pawed her way along the edge of the road, toward the burnt shell, she also heard rather alarming snaps, the sounds of twigs being broken, and the rustle of dead leaves being stepped on. She was fairly certain that Auror Frankel would be unable to hear them, however, and had just turned back to try to warn him, when she heard a voice whisper something very clearly. Unfortunately, although she could read German well enough to read a treatise on Transfiguration written in the language, she had never really spoken it, and had rarely heard it spoken. In addition, her vocabulary was better suited to understanding discussions of esoteric metamorphosis charms than to understanding everyday conversations. Minerva, therefore, knew only that the words were German, and that alone meant they were in dire trouble.

Before she was able to reach the older Auror, a half dozen German soldiers had emerged from the bushes and surrounded Frankel, who had only walked about ten yards before he was stopped. Minerva’s French was, unfortunately, worse than her German, and she understood nothing except that they seemed to be asking him why he was there. Minerva vowed that when she got home, she would improve her understanding of both written and spoken French and German.

Frankel had responded, first in French, but then switched rapidly to German. Minerva hid in the undergrowth, unobserved by anyone. One of the soldiers, whom Minerva would later call “the twitchy one,” had moved back around behind Frankel, watching him as though he expected him to do something threatening at any moment. As the soldier who appeared to be in charge questioned the Auror, the twitchy one began a whispered, erratic conversation with another soldier who was also standing behind Frankel. His fellow soldier seemed to become agitated by this conversation, and, from what Minerva could discern, seemed to want the twitchy one to shut up. Minerva believed that the soldier in charge was asking Frankel something about where he’d come from and whether he was alone, but other than that, she understood almost nothing. She understood almost as little of Frankel’s responses, although because she knew his cover story, she recognised that he was talking about his French cousin.

Minerva kept waiting for Frankel’s wandless Imperio, but realised with growing unease that he had been unable to make eye contact with his interrogator long enough to cast it effectively. From the tone of his voice and his body language, Minerva could tell that the German soldier was not buying Frankel’s story.

She thought the man had just asked Frankel for his papers, and Frankel was reaching inside his jacket, when the twitchy one suddenly turned from his hushed, erratic conversation with his fellow soldier, raised his rifle, and shot Frankel in the back. What followed could only be described as chaos. It was clear that the rest of the soldiers had not anticipated this turn of events, and their leader was enraged. Two of the soldiers knelt beside Frankel, who was alive, and wheezing and moaning lowly. The leader of the group had walked up to the twitchy one, shouting incomprehensibly, grabbed the soldier’s rifle, and hit him in the head with its butt, knocking him to the ground. He kicked him twice, for good measure, shouted something at the other soldier, then went to look at Frankel.

Minerva felt paralyzed. She had no idea what to do now. She doubted that she could do anything for Frankel in her current form; if she were to Transfigure back to her ordinary form and try to rescue him, she might get herself captured or killed – and even if she did succeed in rescuing him, Grindelwald would have definitive evidence that something odd and wizarding was happening in the area. On the other hand, Frankel had the Portkeys. And he was a wizard who should not be captured, she was sure. No one had briefed her on what she should do if anything happened to Frankel, although they surely must have been aware of the possibility. Damn the stupidity of bureaucrats! These were the same people who had thought it was a good idea to make her Portkey a cat collar with a bell attached, after all.

Minerva watched from the side of the road as the German soldiers tore open Frankel’s clothes and examined his wound. Frankel was still alive, and the Germans didn’t seem to be interested in having him die on them. She wished she could understand the conversations, but other than snatches here and there, she could catch little of it, and not enough for any of it to make sense. She decided that Frankel would have to take care of himself, and Portkey out, if he were able. The soldiers didn’t seem interested in the religious medal that hung around the Auror’s neck, and they might leave him with the contents of his pockets, as well. She wondered briefly where he kept his wand. She hadn’t seen it before they’d Portkeyed from the Ministry.

Yes, Frankel would have to take care of himself. Albus couldn’t. And someone had to find him. So here she was, somewhere in France – they hadn’t even told her where in France, just shown her that map of the area surrounding the crossroads – sniffing and listening, and picking her way through the wood and underbrush. Someone, Albus, no doubt, had done a good job in eradicating most signs that anyone had been through there recently, but she could easily smell their trail. In addition to their own scents – and, although she was familiar with them from entirely different experiences, Minerva would recognise either Albus’s or Carson’s scents anywhere – the odor of blood was disturbingly strong to her feline nose. She heard nothing, though, despite stopping now and then, pricking her ears, turning them in different directions, and listening as hard as she could. Minerva didn’t know whether this should alarm her or not. She did know that it was cold, and that she hoped she found the wizards soon, and that Albus would have some idea of how to get them away from there and back home.

Note: the next installment "Finding," will probably be posted tomorrow. Sorry for the bit of a cliffie!

[elivania]

Nice addition! Short, yes, but good. Stupid politicians. They don't know anything about the toils of war. *shakes head* they'll rue the day. *Eli*

[MMADfan]

Note: I hope that folks are still with me. Here's the next installment, the second-to-last (I believe) before we rejoin Albus and Minerva back in his office.

Part XXXIII: Finding

Albus lay in the cavity beneath the rock, hoping that he hadn’t dug himself his own grave. It would be dark soon. Already, the shadows had grown long, and his little niche was veiled in gloom. Still, he was concerned that the wrong party might find him. He doubted that Grindelwald would spare any of his own wizards to search for him until he received some definitive evidence both that there had been wizards in the area and that he, Dumbledore, had been amongst them. The Dark Wizard simply could not spare anyone at the moment, Albus was fairly sure. No, Grindelwald’s strategies were fairly predictable, and it was likely that if he had a suspicion that there were wizards loose in the vicinity of the wrecked vehicle, he would manipulate the Muggles to make the initial search, and only send in his own men once he believed there was a prize worth seeking.

Not wanting to rely solely on the darkness to hide him from any Muggles who might stumble across him, and hoping that he was correct in his assumptions about Grindelwald’s tactics, Dumbledore raised his borrowed wand and, slashing it through the air, cast an Imperturbable Charm. He was disturbed by how much energy casting the Charm seemed to take. Of course, he probably always expended the same amount of energy every other time he cast it, he had just never noticed, since his magical reserves were usually so vast. After waiting several minutes, Albus cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, pleased to note that that particular Charm did not seem as draining as the first.

He surely must look a sight. His Glamour had completely disappeared hours ago, even before Alastor had Portkeyed away. Albus could feel the dried blood matting his hair and beard, and wasn’t sure himself how much of it was his and how much belonged to that brave lad who lay dead and Transfigured beside him. The left side of his forehead had been sliced open by some of the flying debris; tremendous swelling around the wound had extended to his left eye, making it difficult for him to open it more than a crack. His left shoulder was swollen, as well, and his shirt felt uncomfortably tight around it. Concerned more about the cold and the state of his magical reserve than about cleanliness or comfort, Albus hadn’t bothered trying to clean the coat of blood and muck before he’d put it back on. Beneath the coat, he was still wearing the now-sleeveless jacket, which was equally bloody. Perhaps if the Muggles did find him, he could just stand up and frighten them away with his appearance, he thought wryly.

Laying there beneath the rock, Albus drifted in and out of sleep. Trying to stay awake was becoming increasingly difficult, despite the fact that the pain in his shoulder and head were excruciating, and the ground was cold and hard. He wondered if help really were coming for him, and, if so, whether they would be able to avoid detection, themselves. Rather than give in entirely to sleep – he was worried that even a wizarding search party might not find him in the dark, with the protective Charms he’d cast – Albus tried to practice some Occlumency meditations, removing himself from the direct experience of his own discomfort, yet remaining aware of his surroundings. The shear effort required in the attempt was sufficient to occupy his mind and keep him awake, at any rate.

***

Minerva continued through the dark, grateful for her Animagus’s night vision, which was able to make use of the paltry available light. She wished that moonrise was earlier; the additional light of the quarter moon would have been welcome. Once again, she stopped, pricking her ears, sniffing the wind. She was close now, she could tell. The scents were much stronger, but she could still hear nothing. Albus was near, yes, very near. She moved faster, still almost silently, along the trail. Yes! He was here. But where? She could hear nothing. Her feline heart beat faster as she crept toward a scraggly tree. Yes, here. There was a rock. It smelled of Albus, and of Carson. She nosed closer, her feline instincts overriding her human caution. There, in that hole. But she heard nothing, no breathing, and saw only an indistinct form . . . was it just more dirt and rock? But then her witch’s mind engaged, and she knew it to be a Disillusionment Charm, and, she hoped, some kind of Imperturbable that was keeping her from hearing Albus’s breathing, for she could now discern Albus’s outline through the Disillusionment.

Minerva stepped closer to him; yes, he was breathing. She didn’t see Carson, but at that moment, her relief at finding her mentor was so great, she scarcely gave a thought to the other wizard’s absence. Minerva crept into the small shelter. “Mrrrow.” Giving a slight meow, she nudged Albus’ elbow with her head. “Mrrr-rrrrow,” she trilled again lightly.

Albus opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. “Ah, a visitor. But you should go, little one. It isn’t safe for either of us here. Of course, you are a French cat. I should speak French, no doubt.” Albus reached out to stroke the small animal. “I know a cat a bit like you at home, she’s a sweet . . . Minerva?” he said as he touched the cat. “Minerva, am I going mad, or is that you?”

“Mrr-rrrow!” Minerva butted his side affectionately with her head.

“What are you doing here?”

Minerva withdrew from the cramped shelter, stood completely still, listening intently, sniffing the breeze, and then she transformed.

“I am here to help get you home, Albus. I’m afraid there have been some problems along the way, however,” she whispered, still careful, although she had heard no one nearby. Minerva pulled her wand from her pocket and ended the Disillusionment and Imperturbable Charms.

“They sent you? Alone?” Albus asked incredulously, returning her whisper.

“Yes, and no. That’s what I meant by things not going the way they were supposed. Can you get out of there? Can I help?” She reached in to offer him her hand. “My God, Albus, you look . . . .” Minerva couldn’t even express how utterly dreadful Albus appeared.

“I can only imagine. And I must not smell too pretty, either.”

“Well, don’t apologise about that; it was how I found you so easily. But where’s Carson? I could smell him, as well.”

Albus was trying to drag himself out of the hole, allowing Minerva to grab onto his right hand and arm to assist him, so he was spared having to answer her question immediately. Even once out from the niche beneath the rock, Albus lay, this time on his stomach, breathing heavily, and trying not to give voice to his pain. Finally, he rolled back over on his right side and whispered, voice cracking, “He’s still beneath the rock, Minerva. I am so sorry.”

Still crouching beside Albus, Minerva could see the log-like shape beyond him. She blinked. It did not change. She lowered herself completely to the ground. She should have been prepared; it had been a possibility all along; she knew that. Minerva reached out and stroked her former teacher’s blood-caked face. He was her concern now. She could grieve later.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit while we talk and decide what we’re going to do, then, shall we?” she whispered, as lightly as she could with the lump in her throat.

Albus merely nodded. He was so exhausted. There was finally someone there who wasn’t in worse shape than he was, someone who could do something to help him.

Casting a gentle cleansing Charm over his face, then his hair and beard, Minerva began to tell Albus about the plans Sprangle had made for them, about Frankel, and about the Portkeys. After performing a Warming Charm, she asked Albus to help her get his coat off, and when it became clear that his arm was now too swollen to do so without causing him great agony, she first cut the arm from the coat, then sliced through the front of it, eased him out of it, then helped him lie back down. When she reached the part of her story where she described how they had made her Portkey a cat’s belled collar, she was attempting to determine the extent of the damage to his shoulder. Albus gasped and choked slightly.

“I’m so sorry, Albus, I didn’t mean to hurt you further!”

“No, that’s fine. I was trying not to laugh, actually. It would be funny if the situation here weren’t so dire. Let me guess. Sprangle would not allow you to carry your own Portkey.”

“You must know Sprangle. The man is a certifiable nincompoop,” replied Minerva. “As you can imagine would happen when you have an idiot making the plans, everything went wrong almost as soon as we got here.” Minerva told Albus of Frankel’s unfortunate encounter with the German soldiers.

“Hmm, I wonder if that was ‘Horst,’ whom we had the displeasure of encountering earlier. After the jeep exploded, the three of us were hiding behind some bushes when a group of German soldiers came by. I think it was happenstance that they came upon the scene, but a fellow named ‘Horst’ decided it might be amusing, or revealing, to shoot blindly into the trees on either side of the road. His fellow soldiers were most displeased with him. They seemed to think he’d snapped, I believe.”

“Could be the same soldier, I suppose,” said Minerva as she cast a strong cleansing charm on the overcoat. “I never heard a name – or if I did, I didn’t recognise it as such. I’m afraid my German wasn’t up to understanding much of what was said.” She quickly apprised Albus of what transpired after Frankel was shot, and how she had come to the decision to abandon Frankel to search for him.

“You did not abandon him, my dear. I am sure it is precisely what he would have wished you to do. I don’t believe that there was anything you could have done at that moment that would have improved the situation for him, and your own position would have been compromised, even if you weren’t captured. With any luck, they will turn their backs on him long enough for him to Portkey back to Headquarters.”

“The fact remains, Albus, that you and I are essentially stranded here unless we can retrieve a Portkey, create a new one, or Apparate somewhere,” Minerva said as she cast a Detumescens Charm to reduce the swelling in his shoulder. “As we are in the middle of France somewhere, Apparating is not an option. You are incapable of it at the moment, and I am unable to Apparate us both back to London. I doubt I could Apparate myself to London from this distance, let alone Side-Along with you. Creating a new Portkey might work, if we had the leisure, and you were up to it; I have never created one in my life, so I cannot do it. Therefore, that option is out.” Minerva gently explored the injury to Dumbledore’s head, touching it gingerly with the tips of her fingers. “We are left with a choice of trying to walk somewhere, which seems highly inadvisable for obvious reasons, waiting for other rescue from the Ministry, or attempting to locate Frankel and the Portkeys. None of these sound like particularly good options, but two of them can be performed simultaneously. You shall crawl back into your little den there, I will cast a nice strong warming spell on you, and a little Disillusionment Charm, as well. You will wait, and I will go back and see if the soldiers and Frankel are where I left them. I rather doubt it, but it’s worth a try. If they are not, I will wait there for a little while and see if the Ministry sends anyone else after us when we don’t show up – of course, with any luck at all, Frankel has Portkeyed back already and they have another team on their way.” Throughout this speech, Minerva cast cleansing charms and mild healing charms over Albus. “Now, I think I’ve done all I can. I believe that your shoulder is badly broken, and your collar bone, as well, but I’m afraid that between the moving around you’ve done and the swelling, if I were to cast an Episkey, or even a Canaliculus, the bones would knit wrongly, and they’d just have to break everything again at St. Mungo’s. You’d likely never heal right, in that case. Hopefully, with the swelling down, you’ll at least be a bit more comfortable. I don’t dare do much for your head wound, either, since I wouldn’t know what I was doing. Now, I’ve also cleaned up the overcoat as well as I could – I think you’ll have to burn it, though, Albus – so we can wrap you back up in that.”

Albus had been trying, without success, to interrupt Minerva as she laid out her reasoning and made her plans. When it appeared she’d finished speaking for the moment, he tried to smile, and said, “Still Mother McGonagall, aren’t you, my dear?” Minerva just twitched the corner of her mouth at Albus’s attempt at levity.

“Minerva, I cannot let you do that. I am sure that you can Apparate out. You can bring help back with you.”

“Don’t be absurd, Albus. First, I do not believe I can Apparate all the way to London; second, I haven’t been to France since I was six years old and I visited Paris with my family, therefore, I cannot Apparate anywhere within France; third, I am not leaving you, even if I could Apparate to London, or elsewhere, to safety; and fourth, . . . I am not leaving you,” she finished quietly.

“My dear, it is too dangerous. I already have one dead boy to return to his family; I could not bear it if you were to meet the same fate.” Albus hadn’t intended to reveal so much emotion, but in his exhaustion, sorrow, and desperation that Minerva not follow through on her plan, he pleaded with her. “Please, Minerva, go, Apparate home.”

“Carson’s death has nothing to do with any decision we take now, Albus. You did not abandon him; how can you expect me to abandon you?” she asked.

“His death is my fault. From beginning to end. It will always weigh on my conscience,” sighed the exhausted wizard, eyes closed.

“Well, unless you exploded that jeep, or you killed him outright, that is foolishness, Albus. I am sorry to be harsh, but you must listen to me. I don’t know all that happened here, but I do know that you gave Alastor your Portkey, when you could have just taken it and transported yourself, then sent rescue for the two Aurors. You did not. You gave your Portkey to Alastor, likely saving his life, and you stayed with Carson. From what Alastor reported, Carson had been very badly wounded. I know you did what you could for him, Albus, and I’m sure it hurts you that you were unable to do more. But you must not allow that to interfere with your own escape from this place. I will not leave you, Albus, and, last I knew, there is no way to force someone to Apparate. Unless, of course, you wish to try an Imperio on me?” She smiled slightly with her last remark.

If she knew, if she knew how he received that fatal wound, that I live only because he does not . . . she would not feel so charitably toward me, thought Albus.

“Very well, Minerva, if you must. But please do not linger long by the road. It has only been German soldiers so far, but if Grindelwald sends someone . . . please be wary, my dear.”

“I will be, I promise, truly, Albus. If there’s no one there, if this doesn’t work, well, then we’ll try to think of another plan to get away from this place. And I won’t leave my Animagus form until I return here, okay? If Frankel is there, perhaps he can give me my collar!” Minerva tried to grin. “Ready to put your coat back on?”

“Yes, but, well . . . I’ve been lying in that hole for a long time. And as thirsty as I am, I wouldn’t think I’d need to, but . . . .”

“Oh,” Minerva flushed, thankful for the darkness. “You need to relieve yourself before you settle back into your little den? What if I help you over to a nice tree, then come back and, um, arrange your shelter while you’re busy. When you’re done, let me know, and I’ll help you back here, okay?”

With Minerva’s assistance, Albus stood, somewhat shakily, and walked a few yards to a “likely spot,” as Minerva called it. After she had walked back toward the rock, he tried to undo his trousers. To his chagrin, he found that he could not stand without holding onto the tree with his one good hand, and that he could not hold onto the tree and open his trousers at the same time.

“Minerva?”

“All done?” she asked.

“No, I’m afraid I have an embarrassing problem. I only have one hand. I can hold onto the tree and remain upright, or I can unfasten my trousers. I cannot do both.” Albus leaned more heavily against the tree.

“Well, no worries, sir, we can take care of this. Is it a zip or buttons?” Minerva was all business, trying to hide her own embarrassment, as well as trying to make Albus more comfortable in the awkward situation.

“Buttons. Transfigured the zip. It was a rather frightening thing to have so close to, you know,” he said.

“All right. There, that’s done. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that still leaves you with the problem of actually doing what you came to do,” Minerva said, thinking rapidly. “I have an idea, sir. What about a slight levitation charm? I could cast something to keep you upright, that way you’d have a hand free. I’m afraid I don’t think I could cast it and hold it without maintaining eye contact, but I promise not to look. And, after all, it is just a natural function,” she offered, trying to minimise Albus’s obvious discomfort. “You’ll feel much better after, too, I’m sure.”

“That sounds fine. Whenever you’re ready.” Albus held onto the tree and waited.

“There you go, can you feel it? See if you can let go of the tree,” instructed Minerva.

Albus let go of the tree, experimentally, to discover the odd sensation of being pulled upright. Most peculiar sensation, he thought, somewhat like Mobilicorpus feels when your conscious, but not as uncomfortable. Aloud, he said, “Yes, it seems to be working. Thank you.”

Glad that his back was to Minerva, Albus finished the task he had come to do, then labouriously buttoned himself back up. This was all quite embarrassing enough without having her do that, as well. He would be most grateful when he could use both hands again, and stand without becoming dizzy, and use a Charm to button his clothes, if he needed to . . . .

“I’m set, now, Minerva.”

“All right. Here I am,” she said, coming to his right side and putting an arm around him. Albus felt the modified levitation charm drop as she took hold of him, and his weight sagged against her.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I don’t mean to be a burden. Literally,” he said. “My legs just don’t seem to want to hold me as they usually do.”

“No worries, there, Albus, I’ve got you.”

They made it back to the rock, where Minerva helped him on with his somewhat cleaner, and repaired, overcoat.

“I had wanted to make you a bit more room under there, but I am growing concerned about the hour. If they haven’t moved Frankel yet, they will soon. I had wanted to get you some water, as well. I’ll take the flask with me just in case, but I hope we’ll be leaving here soon, and won’t need it.”

With Minerva’s help, Albus crawled back under the rock. She Disillusioned him and cast a strong Warming Charm before she left, telling him that she’d be back as quickly as she could, but not to worry if she was delayed. Albus watched with a mixture of pride and apprehension as Minerva slipped easily into her Animagus form and leapt off through the night, a barely visible shadow.

Laying there, Albus thought about their predicament. If there were no other rescuers from the Ministry when Minerva went back to the road, and Frankel was gone, which, no doubt, he was, they would have to find another way out. They could not delay. Frankel’s appearance – and, hopefully, disappearance, if he were able to use his Portkey – would alert Grindelwald. They would have little time. Certainly not enough time to walk to safety, even if he were in any condition to do so. Minerva would have to Apparate them out. Perhaps to Paris. She had been there once, after all. And now that it was liberated, they could seek help from the Muggle Allied Forces there. Or perhaps he could look up one of his old wizarding acquaintances, if any were still left in the city. The Ministry had no presence in Paris, although he had urged they establish one, and the French wizarding government was still in exile, waiting for the Muggle war to cool down and for Grindelwald to be dispatched. Still, Paris would make a good destination. He would simply have to convince her that she could Apparate there despite not having been there since she was a child.

Feeling somewhat less worried now that he had an alternate plan worked out, Albus dozed fitfully, and waited for Minerva’s return.

Next: “Escaping”

[elivania]

Brilliant addition. I love the realism of Albus having trouble and how she switched into her business attitude to help him. Absolutly wonderful. Great job. *Eli*

[Hogwarts Duo]

I feel so sorry for Albus, thinking that Minerva will in some way think less of him after learning Carson saved his life. Not that Minerva would wish him dead by any means but the alternative would have been so much worse for so many reasons.

I also liked how Minerva was adamant that she was not leaving him...just like he didn't leave Alastor or Carson. I can already see that stern streak in her and it's great.

Please update soon!

[Gemmie Lou]

this just gets better and better x x x

[Trulyamused]

Brilliant. I love this.

More is eagerly awaited.

Truly

[MMADfan]

Part XXXIV: Escaping

Minerva raced back to the road as quickly as she could, leaping over fallen tree limbs, slipping easily through the bracken, and dashing beneath bushes. As she approached the spot where she’d left Frankel, she slowed, and crept quietly forward, toward the edge of the road. She saw no one. She heard nothing. Nonetheless, she remained motionless, as she could only in her Animagus form, crouched by the soft shoulder of the road, and waited, listening intently and testing the air with her nose.

Underlying the odours still emanating from the burned-out jeep, Minerva could smell petrol in the air – or was it diesel? – that hadn’t been there before. She didn’t know how long such a scent would take to dissipate, normally, but there was a light breeze, and she decided that a Muggle vehicle must have gone through recently. After several minutes crouching there by the roadside, hearing nothing unusual, Minerva stood and sauntered into the road. Batting a fallen leaf about, she attended to the sounds around her in the night. She still heard nothing. She walked in a seemingly aimless pattern, tossing her dry leaf, patting it along the ground, jumping on it, catching it, and losing it. She then chose a small stone to bat about and send skittering along the surface of the road, never pawing it too far from her. Whilst an observer may have thought that she was a mere house cat out on a lark in the middle of the night, Minerva was making note of everything she saw, everything she smelled, and remaining attentive for any sounds that might indicate the presence of another person.

As she tossed her leaf about, she found tyre tracks, barely visible on the hard-packed, frozen dirt road. Indeed, if she hadn’t been looking for them, believing them to be there, she wouldn’t have seen them, even with her acute night vision. As a cat, she was somewhat farsighted, and so when she leapt onto her leaf to capture it beneath her, and examined the track closely, she used her nose, and her slightly opened mouth, more than her eyes. She would really have to begin a study of the way thing smelled at different intervals, she thought. Although she believed the tracks smelled fresh, she couldn’t be sure. She was fairly certain, however, that they were much more recent than that morning, and did not belong to the jeep that had been carrying Dumbledore and the two Aurors.

Abandoning the leaf in favour of a small, round pebble, she criss-crossed the road until she finally reached the spot where Frankel had fallen. Stopping there and sniffing would be perfectly natural for a cat, so Minerva explored the ground carefully, opening her mouth slightly in order better to smell, or taste, the odours around her.

The Auror had bled quite a bit, she decided, but she also found discarded bloody cloths that had apparently been used to staunch the flow. Following the scents along the ground, she deduced that the soldiers had lifted Frankel and carried him to the south side of the road, where they’d laid him down again. There was very little blood present; they must have bandaged him up and perhaps stopped the bleeding.

She sat by the spot where Frankel had lain, and washed her face, something she normally disliked doing in her Animagus form (although, truth be told, it did feel rather nice), but she needed to think. If anyone was watching, they would just see a finicky cat bathing at the side of the road. Minerva was discouraged. She had hoped to find Frankel still there, although she had known that there was a good chance he would be gone by now, or that she would be unable to reach him even if he were there. Wondering whether he had managed to use his Portkey yet, she washed her shoulder, then her hip, and then chased her tail in a circle.

The soldiers had left cigarette ends tossed into the road, she noticed. She sniffed one, then batted it aside. Disgusting things. Another discarded bit of bloody gauze. A button. Putting her nose to it, she thought it smelled of Frankel. She was glad now that he had held her in her Animagus form when they Portkeyed. She certainly wouldn’t have noticed his particular scent, otherwise. She played with the button, tossing it back toward the spot where the soldiers had laid him, apparently to wait for the vehicle that came and, she surmised, driven them away.

Minerva lay down and sniffed the air again. Still no scents that she wasn’t expecting to be there. She wished that she could sense magic in her Animagus form. After working with Albus at Hogwarts, Minerva had come to be able to detect the tingle of a powerful ward while she was in her Animagus form, but she was completely blind to any other magic when she was a cat. Of course, it was not as though she were particularly sensitive to magical traces in her ordinary form, either. That type of heightened sensitivity, if not a natural gift, was the product of years of training and hard work. Minerva doubted that she would sense any common magic being used in the area, even if she weren’t in her cat form, without using her wand. She had promised Albus that she would stay in her Animagus form, and she would. It wouldn’t be particularly wise to wave a wand about out here, anyway.

Remembering the almost unnatural stillness that had emanated from the hollow where Albus had lain beneath his Imperturbable Charm, Minerva pricked her ears, trying to detect whether there was no noise where she would expect to hear at least the rustle of the wind. She finally concluded that, for the moment, at least, she was alone and unobserved. Keeping in mind that her situation could change at any second, Minerva began a minute, inch-by-inch, search of the ground near where she’d found the Auror’s button. She primarily used her nose, but stayed alert for anything that might gleam unnaturally against the dirt, and pushed aside leaves and debris with her paws. Just as she was prepared to give up and return to the middle of the road to examine the spot where Frankel had originally fallen, her paw encountered something beneath a prickly bush – perhaps a berry bush, thought Minerva – which did not feel like a leaf, or dirt, or anything else that one would naturally find beneath a berry bush at the side of the road.

Unwilling to raise her own hopes too high – after all, it could be a bloody handkerchief, or something – Minerva crouched as low as she could and crept under the thorny stems, wishing that her coat were heavier, or her fur longer. It wasn’t a handkerchief. It was cloth, though. Her heart racing, Minerva hooked her paw around the object and dragged it toward her. It smelled of Frankel. She backed out from under the bush, no longer noticing the thorns, dragging the object along. When it made a very nice little jangle as she pulled it more forcefully from its hiding place, Minerva could have danced for joy. It was her stupid, blasted, belled collar, still buckled, and other than a bit of dirt and sweat, apparently none the worse for having been discarded under the berry bush. Minerva hadn’t smelled any footprints near the bush, nor anything else human, hence her readiness to give up the search and return to the road. Frankel must have either tossed it there or levitated it wandlessly. Either way, he had taken a risk. Of course, the soldiers could have found it on him and kicked it or thrown it aside, but it had been so far underneath the bush, it had to have been tossed from a very low vantage point – such as that of a man lying on the ground – or been whisked there with a Charm.

It was also possible that he had managed to leave the Muggle fountain pen behind in the same way, but Minerva didn’t want to take the time to look for something that might not be there. Besides, she could fairly easily carry the collar; she supposed she could have managed the fountain pen, instead, if she’d had to, but she didn’t believe that she could carry both Portkeys at once without some difficulty.

Minerva manoeuvred the collar about with her paws, then lowered her head and caught the bell up in her mouth. When it was well-settled, she stopped, looked, listened, and smelled the air again. Still nothing to indicate the presence of anyone but herself. She dashed across the road, hunkered briefly beside the shoulder, then began to pick her way back through the underbrush, going more slowly and carefully this time. She didn’t want to drop the collar: picking it up by its bell had been a difficult operation to do once, she didn’t want to have to repeat it. In addition, she had to avoid snagging the thing on the overhanging limbs and stems that she had been able simply to brush past on her way there. As frustrated as she was that this journey would take a bit longer, she felt immense satisfaction, both human and feline, that she would be able to present Albus with a prize upon her return.

She was several yards in from the road when she suddenly heard several loud cracks coming from the area between the jeep and the site of Frankel’s ambush. Those cracks would be recognised by any witch or wizard: multiple Apparitions. Minerva froze, glad that she was a dark tabby, glad that she was several yards from the road, and glad that there were trees and bushes between her and whoever had just Apparated in. She stayed to listen, unmoving. Who had arrived? Friend or foe? The sound of their voices answered that question for her. They weren’t speaking English. The Ministry had not sent these wizards. Grindelwald had.

Minerva slunk quietly away, knowing that rushing could draw attention to her. Albus was not safe in his hole. He may be well hidden from Muggles, or even from a desultory inspection by a wizard. But these wizards knew for whom they were looking. They would find his path; they would not be fooled long by a Disillusionment charm; they would capture him; they would bring him to Grindelwald. Grindelwald would subject him to the unspeakable interrogations for which he was infamous, and then, if Albus were lucky, they would kill him. But Minerva would not let that happen, not if she had to die to prevent it.

As she got further from the road and could no longer hear the wizards, Minerva broke into a trot. She was still unable to proceed as quickly as she had earlier, but she would reach her destination in just a few minutes. Running through the woods, scrambling over fallen trees and through the ferny undergrowth, she considered Albus’s situation. Before they left – before she left, she corrected herself – she would have to eradicate any sign of his having been in the area. She didn’t know how much he had bled when he had been near the jeep, but she knew that he had cleaned up any detectable blood between the road and his hiding place. She hoped that whatever blood was at the original scene was Moody’s, or Carson’s, or at least so well mixed with theirs as to be unusable for any Dark Art. Yes, she would have to Banish all the blood from the scene, as well as the traces that he had left when he had leaned against the tree. Minerva hadn’t heard of urine being used in a Dark Spell, but she had not made a study of such things, either. She couldn’t be too careful.

She arrived. Albus was there, dozing. Minerva crept in beside him and dropped the collar on his chest. He woke up at that, and was just about to say something when Minerva quickly put a paw over his mouth and shook her head. Paw still to his lips, she slipped back into her ordinary form with barely a whispered pop. She did not remove her hand from his mouth, but felt for her wand with her free one. Awkwardly, she cast a light nonverbal Imperturbable, then took her hand from his mouth and moved it to his chest.

“Shh,” Minerva breathed. She grasped the collar, taking hold first of the bell, to silence it, despite the Charm she’d just cast. Still holding the collar tightly, she found his hand, and pressed the collar into it. Letting go, she whispered, “Grindelwald’s men. No time to talk. The trigger word is ‘spero.’ You must use it alone, if it comes to that. You must promise me. Do not make Carson’s life, and mine, wasted through delay. I need to destroy all traces of your blood in and around this spot. I will do the area beneath you last. If need be, I will do it after you Portkey. You know what they’d do with your blood, Albus.”

“I will not leave you behind, Minerva.”

“If we do this right, you won’t have to. If worst comes to worse, I’ll return to my Animagus form and find the British or American Army. I’ll be fine. It’s you they’re after. They don’t even know I’m here.”

“Unless they’ve questioned Frankel,” Albus whispered back, urgently. “They may even know what form you take.”

“We will not need to risk that if we are quick about this. Stop arguing, Albus. Lie there for a moment, but be alert in case you need to get out of here.”

Minerva rolled out from beneath the rock. First, she dashed over to the tree where Albus had relieved himself and cleaned up there, doing away with any bodily fluids he left behind. She then returned to the rock and began casting strong, nonverbal cleaning charms over the rock and the surrounding ground. Fortunately, Albus had been very careful, and had eradicated his traces up to that point.

“Hold on, Albus,” Minerva whispered. “This may not be comfortable.” With that warning, she swished and flicked and levitated Albus from the hole, just missing hitting his head against the scrubby tree as she did so.

“All right, I’m going to levitate you upright. Take hold of the tree to stay that way. Try not to lean on it. You’ve still got blood on your clothes.” Albus had little choice but to obey. He gripped his borrowed wand in the same hand that held the cat collar, and wished for his magic, and his physical strength, to return. Wishing it did not make it so.

After giving Albus his instructions, Minerva levitated the Transfigured body from the cavity and deposited it at his feet. Then she thought of something.

“Your jacket, Albus, where are the sleeves?” she whispered desperately. She thought she heard the popping of a branch breaking somewhere in the distance.

“Under the rock, further under,” he whispered back. He, too, had heard something, and his stomach was a riot of dread and foreboding. “Hurry, Minerva, hurry!”

Hurry she did, throwing herself onto her stomach and waving her wand, Summoning the sleeves and hoping they would respond despite being hidden in the gloom. Successful, she stood, holding the bloody remnants in her left hand, and cast several cleansing Charms at the area where Albus had lain for so many hours. Just as she finished, she could hear voices, and rustling, in the distance.

Turning toward Albus, Minerva thrust her wand into her belt. She bent and hefted the log that was Carson’s body in her left arm, grabbed Albus’s hand with her right, and said, “Now, Albus, now!”

Albus needed no further urging. “Spero!” And they were gone, as if they had never been there.

Next: we rejoin Albus and Minerva in his office in 1957. But don't worry, we will eventually find out more about what happened after they Portkeyed away from their pursuers!
Thank you for letting me know you're still reading and enjoying the fic, despite the somewhat lengthy detour into the past. These were significant events for them both, particularly Albus, as we shall see.
It goes without saying that I love hearing your thoughts on the story.

[Trulyamused]

And they're away. Excellent.

Looking forward to the next bit.

Truly

[Jessabelle]

Wow! This is excellent. This chapter had me on the edge of my seat and I am pretty sure that my sigh of relief was audible! Thank-you for the frequent updates.
- Jess

[Hogwarts Duo]

I don't mind the lengthy memories because they're action packed and serve a purpose to the story. It's almost like getting a story within a story and you update so frequently which is perfect!

[elivania]

Brilliant addition, as usual! Awsome job. I love how you put Minerva in the almost comical situation of pretending to be a normal cat. The actions were very realistic. Really great job. Looking forward to more! *Eli*

[MMADfan]

Time to answer a few posts -- I've put it all in one place to sort of save on the amount of scrolling people have to do if they skip over the conversations and just want to read the story.

durc09 said:

this just gets better and better x x x

Thanks, durc09! I'm so very glad that you think so. It seems that each of the different sections have different moods to them, and I'm not always sure whether it works or not.

elivania said:

Brilliant addition. I love the realism of Albus having trouble and how she switched into her business attitude to help him.

I really wanted to put that in there, because I think it showed something about each of their characters -- including how difficult it was for Albus to be essentially powerless -- and I'm glad you liked it, Eli!

hogwartsduo said:

I feel so sorry for Albus, thinking that Minerva will in some way think less of him after learning Carson saved his life. Not that Minerva would wish him dead by any means but the alternative would have been so much worse for so many reasons.

I know, but he feels a great weight of responsibility for everything that happened. He also knows that Carson had a "thing" for Minerva, which makes it worse for him. But don't worry, you'll learn more about all that later!

hogwartsduo said:

I also liked how Minerva was adamant that she was not leaving him...just like he didn't leave Alastor or Carson. I can already see that stern streak in her and it's great.

I am trying to keep her in-character, just younger, and not yet the Minerva we see later on in the 1990s (obviously!). I'm glad you can see her character coming out here!

hogwartsduo said:

I don't mind the lengthy memories because they're action packed and serve a purpose to the story. It's almost like getting a story within a story and you update so frequently which is perfect!

I'm glad -- I like them myself, but I can imagine that some people wouldn't -- but then, they could read something else, I suppose. And you're right, they serve a purpose to the story. And although it may seem as thought the events of the first few chapters (i.e., in Poppy's office) are now peripheral, they aren't really. The "misunderstanding(s)" between Albus and Minerva that we see in those first few installments may be the hook on which the story hangs, but it's also what gets each of them to confront their own feelings and how they've dealt with them over the years. It also leads to a turning point in the relationship, as you may have already guessed, but it will take them a while even then to completely turn the corner, if you know what I mean.

jessabelle said:

Wow! This is excellent. This chapter had me on the edge of my seat and I am pretty sure that my sigh of relief was audible! Thank-you for the frequent updates.

You're welcome, Jess! I wasn't sure I could do suspense, but I tried, and it looks as though I succeeded. This story has been fun to write because it encompasses so many different kinds of events and emotions.

trulyamused said:

Looking forward to the next bit.
Truly

Hopefully it will be up tomorrow, or, latest, on Wednesday.

These two really do have quite a story to tell in this little version of the ADMM-universe, and I will keep writing until it's done! ;D

Thank you all again for reading -- and if I ever don't respond to a particular post, it's not for lack of appreciation! I value every comment posted. Thanks!

[Miss Q]

This story is fantastic! I think it's amazing that you manage to keep them so in character!

Thank you for this lovely story!!!

M

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

[...] I love how you put Minerva in the almost comical situation of pretending to be a normal cat. The actions were very realistic. [...]

Glad you liked it, Eli! It was fun to write, and you might be able to tell that I've spent some time watching cats play!

missq said:

This story is fantastic! I think it's amazing that you manage to keep them so in character!

Thank you for this lovely story!!!

You're very welcome, Miss Q! I'm glad you are finding them in character. I'm working at that.

Off to sleep now, before I become too punchy . . . Thanks for all the great comments you've left me as I've posted the story!

-MMMADfan

[MMADfan]

Note: Unfortunately, this installment is too long for the system to post, so I have to break it in two. It will continue in the next post, which will be up shortly.

Part XXXV: Meeting

Minerva hesitated only the barest second before rapping at the door to Albus’s office. Too late to turn back now. He surely knew she was there, anyway, as the gargoyle had allowed her entry to his spiral stair. Although she had expected the door to open immediately, she had expected it to open in its usual manner to reveal Albus sitting at his desk on the other side of the room. Instead, she almost walked into Albus as he opened the door to her himself.

“There you are, Minerva! Punctual as always! A characteristic I value highly, even if perhaps I do not always live up to my own standards in that regard. Please come in.” Albus gestured to the chairs and small settee behind him. “I thought that it would be more convenient for us to go over the curriculum in my little sitting area, rather than with me behind that big old desk, since we will be handing parchments back and forth and so on.” Albus hoped he wasn’t rambling. He did feel somewhat awkward, and thought perhaps he had startled her when he had opened the door for her. “Yes, now, I cleared this little table for our use. Please, my dear, just put your things down there. And which chair would your prefer?”

Minerva stood, just a few feet into the room, holding her sheaf of parchments and her books, and blinked at the table and chairs he had indicated. The low coffee table had been transfigured to be slightly taller, although not as high as his desk. He had transfigured the velvet upholstery on the comfortable overstuffed chairs from the garnet-colour they had been that morning to tartan. One had dark and pale greens, brown, and grey on a creamy background; the other was a red, gold, and black tartan on a pale grey background. Whatever one might say of them, they were certainly not your typical tartan, and she’d never before seen velvet done in such a pattern. Minerva decided, without very much thought, to sit in the red and gold chair The green pattern would be easier on the eye. She felt rather confused as she deposited her parchments on the table and lowered herself into the chair. What was she to think? What was Albus doing?

“I hoped you might like that one, my dear! Very Gryffindor, I thought!” Albus sat as well, and pulled the parchments toward him. “Shall we begin by discussing the sixth-year curriculum, then?”

“Yes, Albus, that would be fine, but first –” Minerva began.

“Let’s begin there, then. I assume the outline of the required spells and the order in which I found best to teach them was of some help, but you may have a question or two about that. So let’s look at the broad overview of the course, then move on to the actual progression of the lessons. All right, my dear?” Albus smiled at Minerva, who had opened her mouth once or twice to interject something, but who could only nod at the Headmaster’s cheery suggestion of how they should proceed.

Minerva was taken aback by the fact that he had not given her the opportunity to apologise, and that he appeared to be concerned only with lesson plans and timetables. It was as though nothing had happened that morning at all! She was sure that he had overheard what she had said; there was no way he could have avoided hearing it.

As the two discussed the sixth-year curriculum for the next hour, Minerva’s mind kept turning to the question of why he hadn’t allowed her to finish speaking, why he had insisted they discuss the lessons. Part of her wondered whether Albus had simply been completely unaffected by what he had overheard. She had spent the better part of the day in agony over it, but perhaps he hadn’t given it another thought once he had left the hospital wing. Albus was focussed on the subject at hand, although it didn’t seem as though he were trying to distance himself by concentrating on school matters. He was calling her “Minerva,” and “my dear,” just as usual. And he certainly would not have arranged the furniture for them to sit so closely if he had been trying to distance himself. His Headmaster’s desk would have provided a more than adequate barrier between them, if he had wanted to exert his authority and emphasise the professional nature of their relationship.

Minerva found herself wondering again about Albus’s attitude and purpose when she became aware that he was asking her a question that she hadn’t heard. “I’m sorry, Albus. I am afraid my mind wandered a bit there. I didn’t catch what you asked me.”

“Well, then,” said Albus with a smile, “perhaps it is time for a break. I could not help but notice that you did not eat very much of your lunch today, and I know it can be very difficult to concentrate on this sort of thing when you’re hungry. Dinner’s not for another hour, but we could eat something here now, and resume our discussion of the NEWT-level curriculum later. How would that be, my dear?”

“Oh, no, Albus, that’s fine. We can finish discussing the curriculum now. I don’t want to put you to any trouble, disrupt your plans for the evening . . . .”

“It’s no trouble at all, Minerva. None whatsoever! And if that’s not your stomach I hear gurgling, then it’s mine, which means that at least one of us needs to eat. Let’s do that now, shall we?” As he spoke, Albus gathered up the parchments into a neat pile. “Now, why don’t you go wash up, and I’ll call Wilspy about some dinner, shall I?”

Minerva rose from her seat in silent acquiescence, unable to argue with him. When she just stood there hesitantly, however, Albus asked with a gentle smile, “What is it, my dear? You needn’t wait for an invitation, this isn’t a four-star establishment, you know.”

“Well, actually, Albus, I do need an invitation, unless you have a sink somewhere in your office,” she responded, thinking that his words sounded familiar.

“Ah, no, my dear. Just the bathroom and the loo upstairs, if that’s all right with you. I promise that I got rid of Aberforth’s potion, so that won’t affront you!” He grinned at her broadly.

“Your stairs –” began Minerva.

“Oh, I see. You needn’t worry about those. They are charmed to recognise you now. I should have thought to do that for you as soon as you arrived at Hogwarts, but with one thing and another, the issue didn’t arise until last week. I am very sorry, Minerva.” Albus gazed at her seriously.

“You needn’t be sorry, Albus. You are a very busy wizard, and –” Minerva began before Albus interrupted her.

“I am sorry, nonetheless, for that and a good many other things, as well. But you go wash up now, and I’ll call Wilspy. Would you mind if we were to dine in my quarters? Otherwise, I can arrange things down here,” Albus asked.

Minerva was almost dumbstruck. “No, no, that would be fine.” She took a step or two back toward the brass staircase, then turned and started up the stairs. She hesitated almost imperceptibly when she reached the sixth step, but then proceeded the rest of the way without pausing.

Minerva had been in his private rooms before, of course, but that had been with several other teachers in early January, when Albus had invited the staff for drinks before the students returned from holiday. She was fairly sure she knew where the loo was, although she hadn’t needed to use it the last time she’d been there.

Minerva crossed the Headmaster’s private sitting room toward the far-left door, hoping it was the correct one. She didn’t want to open the wrong door and find herself in his bedroom, or something. Minerva was unsure of how many rooms were in the Headmaster’s suite, although no doubt it was more than just two or three. The level below her contained not only Albus’s office, but also the large library and archive that was inherited by each Headmaster or Headmistress, each of whom would add to the collection during their tenure.

As soon as she opened it, Minerva could see that she had chosen the correct door. On the other side of the small room, a door opened onto the Headmaster’s bedroom. She quickly closed that door, as well as the one behind her, and noted the presence of a third door, which she surmised must lead to his bathroom.

Minerva washed her hands and thought of Albus’s final words to her. He had apologised to her. He had apologised to her. That was not at all what she had anticipated. It was she who should be apologising. It was he who was the injured party. She should be asking for his forgiveness, not hearing him say that he was sorry.

Minerva reached for one of the towels. At least he hadn’t Charmed these tartan, she thought. She liked tartans, but even she recognized there are limits . . . . He must have charmed the upholstery as part of his attempt to apologise to her. She sighed. He would have to give her the opportunity to apologise before dinner. She would make sure that she made the opportunity to apologise, and to express her regret, to him. As she dried her hands, she realised why his earlier words about not needing an invitation had sounded so familiar. He had said the something similar, years ago, before they had their dinner “chez Albus.” Did he remember that dinner, too, or was it simply a phrase that he used often?

Continuation follows immediately.

[MMADfan]

Part XXXV: Meeting, continued

Minerva had just finished drying her hands when she heard Albus’s voice in the sitting room.

“Minerva?”

She emerged from the bathroom, ready with her apology, but before she could say anything, he gestured to a round table across the room. He had pulled the heavy, dark draperies closed, and the room was lit with soft candlelight from a candelabra on the table and two wall sconces. A large bouquet of various flowers was in a crystal vase at the edge furthest from her, and two chairs sat at right angles to each other, place settings in front of each.

“I hope this meets your approval.”

“Yes, yes, of course it does, Albus. It’s very nice.” Minerva was at a loss. How could she apologise to him when he kept being, well, being so Albus?

“Wilspy had wanted to do the table, but I insisted. There does seem to be a slight delay with our meal, however. Some kind of house-elf issue in the kitchens. Wilspy assures me that she is handling it, and our food will be served shortly. In the meantime, may I offer you a seat and pour you a glass of wine?” Albus pulled out a chair for Minerva to sit.

Minerva sat in the chair Albus held for her. “Thank you, Albus, but –”

“Here you go. I hope you like it,” Albus said, handing her a glass of wine that seemed to have poured itself as she was sitting down at her place. “I’ll have one as well, and then, perhaps, a toast?” Albus looked at her inquisitively as he took the seat next to her.

“Of course, Albus, it’s just that –”

“To you, my dear Minerva, for putting up with a barmy old codger like me.”

Never sure of the etiquette of drinking a toast to oneself, Minerva waited until Albus began raising the glass to his lips, then she whispered, “Thank you,” and took a sip of the wine. “But you’re not a barmy old codger, Albus. And I need to –” Minerva made another futile attempt to apologise.

“That’s kind of you to say, my dear. But I wish to apologise again for my neglect of you. As I said down in my office, I am very sorry for allowing my stairs to deposit you on my floor the way they did, and I am even more sorry for having not made time for you the way I ought, the way you deserve, my dear. And I do wish to tell you a little bit about my morning, not in order to excuse my behaviour toward you, but perhaps to explain it. May I, Minerva? Will you allow me that?” Albus was quite aware that Minerva had been trying to work her own apology into the conversation. Normally, he would find it the height of rudeness to repeatedly interrupt someone as he had been doing, but it was important for him to let her know that she was forgiven already, and that he was truly remorseful for the way he had inadvertently neglected her and taken her for granted. He was nonetheless shocked when he saw tears springing into her eyes.

“Ah! My dear, please! I will not discuss it, then, if it disturbs you so! I only wished to make some amends.” Albus reached over and took her hand. “Please, Minerva. I am so sorry; I did not wish to make you cry!”

Minerva blinked, embarrassed when great tears rolled down her cheeks. “Please, Albus, don’t apologise again. Please. It is torture for me to hear that, knowing how good you have been to me, and how little I have appreciated it. And then, what I said this morning . . . .” Minerva had thought that she had completely cried herself out earlier in the day, but after his heartfelt apologies, thinking about what Albus had overheard brought more fresh tears to her eyes.

“It’s all right, Minerva. Really, my dear.” Still holding her hand in one of his own, Albus reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a fresh white handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it and chuckled slightly.

“I didn’t know you could own a white handkerchief, Albus,” she said, trying to make a joke through her tears.

“I received several as a gift. They are very practical. Not particularly decorative, but practical,” Albus replied with a slight twinkle.

“It’s just, Albus . . . I can’t believe I said what I did, and I would never have, and you overheard it, too. . . . what you must have thought . . . ,” Minerva said, sniffling a bit into the handkerchief.

“Ah, well. I do admit to having been somewhat surprised by your particular choice of words. But I could not blame you for the sentiment behind them. I have not meant to neglect you, my dear, but I have not treated you as I ought to have done. It is no excuse, but I am afraid that it never occurred to me that my words and actions might signify something quite different to you than what I meant by them. I have felt so comfortable with you, Minerva, that I took for granted that you would understand if I were late, and not just this morning, but over the last six months, and I never dreamed that you would take it amiss, or believe it showed a lack of respect for you. I am very, very sorry, my dear.” He squeezed her hand gently.

Minerva wiped at her tears. “I should have been more understanding, Albus. And I was, really. But it’s one thing to be understanding each time, and another to think that . . . .” Minerva could not continue that thought. “I see now that I was wrong, but it felt different this morning, and . . . oh, I am so sorry, Albus!” Her tears began to flow again.

Albus got up from the table and came around to stand beside her, putting his other hand on her shoulder. “Come, now, Minerva. Let’s go over to the settee while we wait for dinner, hmm?” Albus led her gently to the small sofa. He sat close to her and put one arm around her shoulders. “Here now, we are friends, aren’t we, Minerva? Friends before all else? I am afraid I have been neither a very good Headmaster nor a very good friend lately, but perhaps you will allow me to be your friend now?”

Minerva let him draw her closer. She let out a shuddering sigh as she rested her head against his chest. One of her hands crept up to rest on his opposite shoulder. Her eyes closed, and she thought vaguely that she shouldn’t allow this, that it would simply torment her later. But she indulged herself, and let herself move her face just a little closer to his beard, and to his sandalwood and lemon scent. “Yes, Albus. Please.”

The two simply sat there for a bit, she, close to motionless, yielding to her desire to simply breathe him in and feel his warmth and his magic flowing around her. He held her, one arm around her, and gently rubbed her back with the his other hand. Ah, he thought, he must not become too used to this; he was doing this to comfort her, after all, not to cater to his own needs. But still, it was nice to hold her like this.

After a few minutes, Minerva sat up, but did not pull away from him fully. “You said that you wanted to tell me about this morning, Albus.”

“Yes, I did, and still do, but how are you feeling? Better?”

Minerva was touched by the concern in his face. “Much; thank you,” she said softly. She did not rest her head against him again, although she would have liked to, but leaned back against the couch, grateful for the warmth of his arm still around her.

“Well, Minerva, in retrospect, I suppose it was all rather funny, although it didn’t feel that way at the time. And I don’t want you to feel badly about everything again, but I really had thought that our meeting would be the highpoint of my day, especially after the way it started.”

Minerva swallowed past a lump in her throat when he mentioned the meeting with her, and that he had been looking forward to it, but she just nodded to him to continue.

Albus began telling her about the urgent Owl he had received so early that morning, and had just reached the point in his story where he had Apparated to Doncaster, when their meal, and Wilspy, popped into the room.

“Dinner, Professor, Professor Minerva,” said Wilspy. “May I get the Professor and his Professor Minerva anything else?”

“No, thank you, Wilspy. Dessert, when we’re ready, of course, but I will call you if we have any other requests,” replied Albus.

Minerva had straightened up completely when Wilspy popped in, and now she stood and walked over to the table where their meal sat steaming on plates and in tureens. As she saw their contents, tears welled up in her eyes again.

“A very good friend once told me that spinach is revitalising,” Albus said softly. “I couldn’t decide on shepherd’s pie or roast beef, so I asked for both.”

In addition to those dishes, there were mashed potatoes and gravy, and carrots that swam in butter. Soup plates at each place held vegetable soup.

“We have shared many meals together, Minerva,” Albus said very softly, “and I am grateful for them all, but especially for our first, that one we shared in my office so many years ago, because it introduced me to a wonderful person whom I am now lucky enough to call ‘friend,’ and for the dinner ‘chez Albus,’ because you helped me more than you could ever have known that night.” Albus stopped, feeling somewhat awkward.

Minerva blew her nose on Albus’s handkerchief. “This is the most wonderful . . . . Thank you, Albus.”

They sat again at the table. After tasting her soup, Minerva realised that she was famished. Albus smiled to see her eat with such an appetite. After they had started on the shepherd’s pie, creamed spinach, roast beef, and the other dishes, Minerva asked him about what had happened in Doncaster, and Albus finished his story.

“Well, it is quite understandable that you would be running late, then,” Minerva said. “But what was all that about your beard?”

Albus explained how Gertie had found him soaking his beard in Aberforth’s latest putrid potion, giving a detailed verbal picture of his state at the time. Minerva put down her fork and began laughing.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Albus! I shouldn’t laugh. That must have been quite awful for you,” Minerva said, still chuckling.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I’ll admit, I was a wee bit embarrassed at the time, especially since I hadn’t been expecting her – I remembered that you were coming, Minerva, but thought that you would probably just settle down with a book and wait for me; I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry, Albus. And although I don’t want you to, well, take me for granted, I promise that if you are late for our meetings in the future, I will assume that you have a good reason for it, and remember what you said about feeling comfortable with me – so I will make myself comfortable in return. Although . . . it would be nice if you could be on time occasionally, Albus.”

“I will do my best, truly. And when I am late in the future, for no doubt it will happen again, even with the best of intentions, I promise that I will try to apologise immediately, and not seem as though I take your time for granted.”

“Thank you, Albus. That means a lot to me.”

“But you must promise me something, as well, Minerva. Please promise me that if I am causing you hurt feelings, you will not try to hide it from me. It was dreadful for me to realise that I had been causing you pain and hadn’t known it.”

Minerva hesitated. “I cannot promise that, Albus. But,” she said in response to his agitated expression, “I will try in the future to express myself before I become as distressed as I did this morning. Despite what you heard this morning, you know that I don’t usually wear my feelings plainly. It is my nature to keep them to myself. Particularly . . . well, you have been honest with me, Albus: particularly any feelings that I might consider unseemly or weak. Unfortunately, it can be easier for me to become angry than to express any kind of hurt feelings. But, in terms of our relationship, I will try never again allow anything of that sort to fester until I become so angry, Albus.”

“Very well; thank you, Minerva.” Albus fiddled with his napkin. He wished he could take her hand again. The moment was past for that. Just then, Wilspy appeared.

“May I speak with the Professor, please, Professor?” Wilspy asked, bouncing somewhat agitatedly. Minerva assumed that she was speaking both about and to Albus.

“Of course, Wilspy,” he replied.

Wilspy looked at him, then looked at Minerva, then looked back at him and said, “Wilspy needs to speak with the Professor, now, please.” Minerva thought she’d never heard Wilspy sound quite so house-elfish as she did at that moment.

“Excuse us a moment, please, Minerva,” said Albus as he led the diminutive house-elf out of the room.

He came back a few minutes later, chuckling. “Am I right in understanding that you know a house-elf by the name of ‘Blampa’?”

“Yes, she was the one assigned to me when I arrived here. Why? What is it?”

“It seems that Blampa was quite put out that you are having a private dinner with me and that she was not asked to serve. That was the first problem in the kitchens tonight. Wilspy did finally convince her that if the private dinner was being held in your rooms, then Blampa would have been asked to serve, and that she wasn’t being dishonoured. However, she has thrown quite a little house-elfish fit regarding the desert.” Albus laughed, taking off his glasses and putting them on the table by his place. “I had asked for chocolate biscuits and caramel custard. There has been a bit of a struggle over these items, however, since Blampa insists that you cannot have dessert without–”

“Ginger newts,” completed Minerva. At his quizzical expression, she said, “I have been trying to get used to Blampa, and in my effort to get her not to be the typical cringing house-elf everyone else – except you, Albus – seems to appreciate, I have been telling her when she does something that particularly pleases me. She brought me some ginger newts, and I told her that whenever she brought me biscuits, she was to include some ginger newts, if possible. It seems that she decided providing me with ginger newts is now part of her mission in life.”

Albus chuckled again. “Yes, well, I told Wilspy just to bring both kinds of biscuits up with the caramel custard. It will all be too much for us to eat, anyway.”

A few minutes later, their dessert appeared on the table, along with a pot of peppermint tea. As they finished their meal, Minerva thought how much better she felt, and how well the day was ending, despite its rather dreadful start. She sighed to herself; she would still have to deal with her underlying problem, she knew, or this would happen again, but not for any reason that Albus could control.

“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Albus. “You’re very quiet.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired, I think.”

“It has been a long day for both of us. I think that we should wait to discuss the seventh-year curriculum. There are some other school-related issues that I wanted to talk with you about, as well, some things I would value your opinion on, but nothing that needs to be resolved tonight. Why don’t we just sit, sip some cognac, and then have an early night?” Albus felt himself begin to flush, wondering if his final suggestion sounded as, well, suggestive to Minerva as it did to him. “We can meet tomorrow. Perhaps after breakfast. Unless you would care to make it a breakfast meeting? We would have more time.”

“That sounds fine, Albus. I would like that, actually, although I would prefer it if we waited until after breakfast to talk Hogwarts business. I think I need my morning tea first.” Minerva hoped that hadn’t sounded like a rejection of his proposal to share breakfast together. She really should avoid such things, but he was a friend, and she would just have to deal with her own internal conflicts without doing anything to injure their friendship. And friends sometimes ate breakfast together.

“Yes, that is fine,” Albus replied hesitantly.

“Since Blampa feels neglected, would you care to meet me in my quarters for breakfast? Unless that would be inconvenient.” Minerva hesitated, herself. “Or we could have breakfast in my office, if you would prefer.”

“That would be lovely, Professor McGonagall,” Albus replied with a smile. “And we needn’t meet in your office. At what time should I arrive for breakfast?”

Minerva and Albus made arrangements for him to come by her rooms at eight o’clock the next morning, then he fetched two snifters and a very nice old brandy, and they relaxed on his sofa talking until her yawns became contagious and he sent her off with the promise that he would be on time for breakfast the next morning. He walked her down the stairs to his office.

As he opened the door to his stairway, she stopped him. “Thank you, Albus. This has been a lovely evening. I was a bit worried when I arrived and you wouldn’t let me apologise; the events of the morning had weighed so heavily on me that I could scarcely think of anything else. I certainly didn’t expect the day to end so happily. Thank you.”

Albus reached out and took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Thank you, Minerva. Our meeting truly was the highpoint of my day.” He bent quickly over her hand, raising it to his mouth and brushing his lips against her knuckles, then he straightened and smiled at her. “Good night, my dear.”

“Good night, Albus.” For a brief moment, Minerva thought that Albus was leaning forward, that he might kiss her cheek, but it was a trick of the light. After a final fond glance at him, Minerva turned and rode the spiral staircase down to the gargoyle, and walked back to her rooms. She would call Blampa as soon as she got there, she decided, and arrange for breakfast. Minerva was a much happier woman than she had been in a very long time.

Note: So we have arrived back in the "present." Hope you enjoyed it!

[Hogwarts Duo]

This was by far the sweetest chapter. I love how Albus was so attentive and determined to make amends for his past mistakes and how Minerva was unnerved by his attentions.

Thanks for the quick update and let me be among the first to say again...update soon!

[Apocalypticat]

I haven't reviewed in a while, have I? Forgive me; I just HAD to bully the next HA chapter out of me so I could enjoy your story without feeling guilty!

Carson's death scene was very moving, and I liked how Albus was unable to keep his emotions hidden when Minerva turned up. This last part was very sweet and I particularly liked the line about how she found it impossible to apologise when he was being "so Albus." The bit where they held each other was definately a squee moment!

Keep it coming!

[MMADfan]

Hi, all! I'm in the midst of writing two different sections kind of simultaneously. I'm trying to work out the sequence in which I'm going to put them. It works either way, but is different dramatically depending on which I put first.

Sycophant Hex has started processing the first chapters of "RaM" through their queue -- it's up now through Albus's reflections after encountering Minerva in Poppy's office -- and I expect the first chapter (which is actually something like the first two or three installments on the ADMM board) to be posted shortly at The Petulant Poetess ("TPP"). I really like TPP, but there's an extreme shortage of ADMM fics there! Visit it at thepetulantpoetess.com .

Anyway, if you want to read a more polished version, now or later after the whole story is done, you'll be able to find it at either of those sites. FFnet has the sort-of-kind-of edited version, and that's posted through "Finding."

The next installment will be up here probably sometime tomorrow or the next day. You guys will ALWAYS get to see it before anyone else! ;D

I'm looking forward to reading a new chapter of "Him Again"!

-MMADfan, sleepily

[Alesia]

Hello,

I haven't reviewed before and have been away from AD/MM for a while but I came by specifically to read your story. Having read the entire piece posted to this point and loved it, I felt compelled to login and let you know that your work is a breath of fresh air. I adore the way you blend elements of the past into what we see in the present. I have found myself wondering what pieces you would incorporate in each piece. Your story is rich with imagery and would be classified, at least by me, as one of the top Albus/Minvera stories out there.

Alesia

[MMADfan]

alesia said:

I haven't reviewed before and have been away from AD/MM for a while but I came by specifically to read your story. Having read the entire piece posted to this point and loved it, I felt compelled to login and let you know that your work is a breath of fresh air. I adore the way you blend elements of the past into what we see in the present. I have found myself wondering what pieces you would incorporate in each piece. Your story is rich with imagery and would be classified, at least by me, as one of the top Albus/Minvera stories out there.

Wow.

Thanks, Alesia. I really appreciate your coming by especially to read my story, and then taking the time to login and review. That was such high praise, I'm blushing. It really is very encouraging, though, to get reviews like yours, and they certainly motivate me to continue with the story.

Thanks again, Alesia -- and everyone who has taken the time to review. The story is up to something like 100,000 words in its "polished" form, and it never would have reached that point if I hadn't had everyone's encouragement. (And for those of you who only read, and don't review, I appreciate you, too, for continuing to come back to read new installments of the story.)

Thank you!

-MMADfan (still blushing)

[elivania]

What a wonderful chapter. Very sweet. I don't really know what else to say about it. Just wonderful. *Eli*