Love and Wisdom

[esoterica1693]

Apocalypticat==
It may have been your fic which first got me thinking along those lines, actually, so hat-tip to you. I first started reading a bunch of fics while being absolutely sure I'd never ever write one, so wasn't being at all careful about noting what ideas stuck in my head.

I decided to include alchemy in my story after learning how central it is to JKR's structure, not only in PS/SS but all 7 books, and also learning about the spiritual dimensions of alchemy, which were as or more important than the chemical to most practitioners. After learning that, it made sense that AD's work w/ Flamel played a big role in making him the relatively mature and wise character we see in the books, and that Flamel was a sort of spiritual mentor to him.

[dianahawthorne]

can't wait for the next chapter- great job!!

[esoterica1693]

Albus rolled over again with a sigh and kicked free of the covers. Sleep was proving most elusive on his first night back in the castle. The quiet was even more oppressive than the heat.

What was it his ears were hoping to hear? Surely he didn’t miss the brightness and noise of the hospital, with nurses and Healers and orderlies running about at all hours and patients calling out in pain or need, and the torches that never dimmed? He had only managed to fall asleep at St Mungo’s by focusing his mind on the steady rhythm of Minerva’s breathing as she slept on the bed she’d transfigured alongside his. He had concentrated on the sound of her breathing, and the pulse in her wrist, just barely sensible to his fingers as their hands twined together, and the sensation of her magic. Minerva’s very presence had been like a lullaby, allowing him to sink into slumber each night despite the clamor around them and the lingering pain from his wounds. Much to his surprise, he had apparently become so accustomed to that lullaby that now he didn’t seem able to sleep without it, even when there was no noise or pain to avoid.

Ah, Minerva. Since their mutual confession of love, he could no longer think of himself without her. This wasn’t the delirious obsession which had sent him to Nicolas and Perenelle for advice twenty years earlier. It wasn’t simply physical need and desire, though he could not deny that was also present in large measure—as they’d been working side by side in his study earlier in the evening it had required all his discipline to not take her in his arms and cover her in kisses. But no, it was something to do with his very identity. He could no longer think of himself as simply Albus, but only as one part of something larger, Albus-and-Minerva. Their declaring their love for each other had brought something new into being without either of them having foreseen it. Or perhaps it had revealed something which had been taking shape for some time previously.

No matter the exact chronology, he knew something had changed. He was now aware of a lack in himself which he had never sensed before, though he now knew it had been there for many years--an emptiness, a gap, a need, a deficiency, which he had not even known existed until Minerva had suddenly satisfied it. But now that he was aware of it, he could no longer think of himself without her, save as some diminished, incomplete thing—a half of something meant to be whole, a sequence of disparate notes yearning to resolve themselves into a chord. He had suddenly become aware of all the things he had denied himself in his decades of enforced celibacy, the physical truly being the least of them. Unconditional love, companionship, one person who, though they might not always agree, would always be his home. Someone who would always speak truth to him. Someone to whom he could give of himself without reserve, whom he could love without calculation, and for whom he would risk himself with abandon--someone who made him more himself than he was alone.

Nicolas had warned him that if the dam were ever breached, he would be swept away by the feelings he had so long ignored. And so he found himself. But it wasn’t a torrent of uncontrollable physical need that was overpowering him. That, though it would certainly put his and Minerva’s friendship in peril, could be endured and exhausted in fairly short order, and they could then deal with whatever wreckage it may have left behind. No, this was something else entirely. This, he knew, could never be outlasted or exhausted. This was now a part of his very being. He would always be part of Albus-and-Minerva, he had no choice. The only question was whether he would allow himself to be united with the other part of himself, or would he remain in isolation, an isolation of which he was now acutely sensible?

He pondered the various ways he and Minerva might live out their newly-acknowledged love. Theoretically they could continue as they had, not acting on it in any way, each simply appreciating the other’s devotion from afar, sacrificing their love to mutual safety. At the other extreme, they could declare themselves a couple in the most public manner, marrying in some large society event and throwing caution to the winds. And then there were the various gradations in between. If it were up to him (which of course he knew it wasn’t—it was as much or more Minerva’s decision, as it was her life in more danger), what did he truly desire?

If it weren’t for the war, he would marry Minerva and shout his love and devotion from the highest tower of the castle, take out a full-page wedding announcement in the Daily Prophet, and make it obvious she was the most cherished witch in the realm.

But the war could not be ignored. And all of his previous fears for her safety if they were known to be connected were still valid—no number of heartfelt statements of devotion could change that. Their love and commitment to each other would need to be secret, never documented, never celebrated. Yes, that was his desire—that they dedicate themselves to each other, live as husband and wife, but that Minerva would accept the necessity of maintaining total secrecy. That was no small sacrifice—it was all too similar to the secrecy and denial they’d practiced for the past decades--and she might not choose to accept his love on such terms. But he desperately hoped that she would.

Now that he had come to some clarity in his own mind, perhaps he could relax and sleep. Though a soothing bubble bath might also help. He waved his hand towards a few of the wall sconces to light his way to the bathroom and gasped at what he saw. Since he had lain down his bedroom had transformed. He no longer slept in a full-sized bed, but now in a king-sized one. And the suite itself was much larger, to accommodate the grander bed, a second wardrobe, an expanded bathroom and a second study. All cleverly situated so as to not be obvious to the casual visitor. The castle was clearly taking matters into its own control.

He made his way through the now-double dressing area and drew his bath. As he sank into the lemon-scented bubbles he considered his new quarters. Yes, his situation was, in so many senses, now out of his control. Decades of discipline and caution had still led to this, despite his best intentions. The very thing he had hoped to avoid—an entanglement with another person which would put them both at risk—was now an unavoidable reality. He had perhaps delayed it, but in no way prevented it. And now he even found himself desiring it! So much for his vaunted ability to control situations.

His mind wandered back to other times he had thought to control something important. His Fellowship. His reaction to Sara’s death. Where Sara would feel most comfortable having their child. To name just the ones which sprang immediately to mind. In each case matters had eventually spun out of his grasp, sometimes with worse consequences than if he had let them proceed naturally. For someone heralded for his intellect, on the topic of control he was a very slow learner indeed.

[revolutionaryetude]

This story is just so awsome words cannot describe it. Please keep writing! I love Dumbledore musing chapters and this was one that was written very well.

[esoterica1693]

A/N: 1) The Welsh is from various online tutorials--my family switched to English three generations ago. If there are any Welsh speakers here, feel free to elaborate or correct. :-) 2) I am not a writer of lemons. Not out of prudery, but simply inability. So their physical relationship will be shown like any old-style British film or novel -- cutting away after the lead-in and leaving the details up to your imaginations.

- - - - -

With a soft “pop” Minerva and Albus arrived at the garden gate of his house on the Welsh coast.

“Welcome to ‘Tŷ Golau,’ Minerva. The House of Light.”

Minerva’s jaw dropped open for a moment. The house was nothing like she had expected. It was modern in its design, with a septagonal main portion framed in large expanses of glass, sited towards the waterfront, and a rear wing of local stone.

“It’s amazing, Albus. Not what I had imagined at all.”

“When I first bought the property it had a cottage on it, but about fifteen years ago I decided to build this. So much of our world looks so medieval—Hogwarts and Hogsmeade especially. I wanted something totally different, so that whenever I am here I feel like I’ve been transported into an utterly different realm. If only I could make it unplottable to Ministry owls, the illusion would be complete!”

Albus placed his left hand on her shoulder and guided her forward a step or two while waving his wand in a tight pattern and murmuring syllables Minerva didn’t understand. “The wards now recognize you—you may apparate to and from any part of the property. Let’s go inside.” He led her up the garden path.

As they crossed the threshold Albus’ house-elf greeted them. “Bore da, Athrawon.” [Good day, Professors.]

“Bore da, Whimsy.”

“Bore da.” Minerva echoed Albus’ reply somewhat hesitantly. “Albus, Whimsy speaks Welsh?”

“Of course!” he laughed. “She grew up here! Well, not here, but at the family manor inland a bit. My mother spoke only Welsh at home, while my father spoke to us in English, so Aberforth and I, and everyone else in the family, including house elves, grew up speaking both interchangeably. Of course in those days there were many more Welsh speakers, even in the south. I use Welsh as much as I can when I’m here—it’s my only chance to keep it up at all. But please forgive us--it is most rude to use a language a guest does not understand.”

“Whimsy, we will use English when Professor McGonagall is present. After all, if we force her to learn Welsh, she may make us learn Highland Gaelic.”

Albus led Minerva on a brief tour of the house. The rear contained the kitchen, two small guest bedrooms, a bathroom, a powder room, a master bedroom suite and a study. The front of the house consisted solely of a great room which functioned as living, dining and sitting area combined.

Tŷ Golau was aptly named—the house was full of light, even on a slightly overcast day. The master suite and the study featured large windows, while the great room was glass on four of its seven walls, with a large stone fireplace anchoring one of the interior walls. The glass walls looked out to the sea. Each room was lit by a skylight as well as by its windows.

The furniture was minimal, of warm woods in a simple Arts and Crafts style. The many books were on plain shelves cantilevered from the walls. Albus’ taste for bright colours and rich fabrics had been given free reign in the master suite and study, but the palette for the rest of the house was slightly muted. The great room featured greens and blues and browns drawn from the natural hues outside the windows. The only other evidence of Albus’ customary tastes was the rather overstuffed profiles of all the cushions.

Albus then led Minerva outside onto the deck and showed her the path down to the beach, and the storage area where she could find chairs, windscreens and blankets if she wished to sit and watch the waves. They finished the tour back in the great room, gazing out towards the foaming breakers and listening to the birds calling as they dove for food.

“It is beautiful, Albus. So different from Hogwarts, but just as wonderful.”

“I’m glad you like it. It is very different, but that makes it more of a retreat. Plus, I figured Wales has enough castles already.” He chuckled. They were standing side by side, and Albus had taken her hand in his. They stood there, arms gently twined, for several minutes, both lost in their thoughts.

Albus brought their contented reverie to a close. “Shall I call Whimsy? It’s about time for elevenses!”

Minerva turned towards him so they were facing each other. In a voice rather different from that of the stern Deputy Headmistress she whispered, “I think I’d rather something else just now, Albus.” She quickly reached up with her free hand and pulled his face towards her upturned lips. Her kiss was firm and searching. After a moment’s surprise Albus responded in kind.

Soon the two were entwined in a passionate embrace, lips and tongues exploring and devouring, hands caressing and stroking, and then fingers fumbling at clasps on robes. Overrobes fell to the floor and underrobes began to gape. Minerva pulled their bodies even closer together. Albus lifted his lips slightly from her breasts and gasped, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed. He slid his hands down, and with one strong motion he lifted her legs around his waist and carried her into his bedroom.

- - - -

Considerably later, Albus ran his fingers gently along his lover’s shoulder as they lay facing each other. Her eyes opened. “Mmm. Albus.” She leaned forward and nibbled the hollow between his collarbone and neck. He wrapped his arm around her and murmured something into her hair.

“Hmm?”

“I said that this was very Gryffindor of you, Minerva. Seducing me before we’d even unshrunk our bags.”

“Gryffindor? Hardly. I wasn’t being brave. Just the opposite.”

“Meaning?”

“I was afraid. Afraid that we would, that we will, sit down and examine this rationally, and talk ourselves back into some professional, chaste, safe friendship. That we will have finally admitted our love for each other after so long only to then….I was afraid that I’d never get to make love to you, Albus, not even once. I couldn’t bear that.”

Albus blinked away the tears that were suddenly threatening to spill from his eyes.

“Minerva, my love, my life.” His hand moved to her breast, his thumb tracing ever-smaller circles. “No matter how we may decide to go forward, there is absolutely no chance we will make love only once. I promise.” His lips quirked upwards in a smile before parting to capture hers, and neither felt the need for any more discussion.

[revolutionaryetude]

This was written very nicely. I really think you did good not writing a lemon. It was perfect without one.

[esoterica1693]

Well, Min was right to be in a hurry! She did get Albus into bed just in time--only a few hourss before JKR sunk our ship!

But my story shall continue.....

[pinnacle]

esoterica1693 said:

Well, Min was right to be in a hurry! She did get Albus into bed just in time--only a few hourss before JKR sunk our ship!

But my story shall continue.....

Good point. And I'm glad!

[ellieminerva]

Great updates! I love the way you've described Albus's indecision,fears and his feeling of being non-complete without Minerva!
No matter what JK says,but they're just perfect for each other!

[esoterica1693]

Thank you all for your fabulous reviews!
It may be a little while til the next update, as I've exhausted all the chapters I've got drafted and RL calls. But I will return to this fic....
In bed enjoying each other isn't a bad place to leave AD and MM for an interlude.

[dianahawthorne]

great job...can't wait for the next chapter!

[esoterica1693]

Late that Sunday afternoon found Albus and Minerva leaning against the front of the sofa in the great room, looking out over the sea, with Minerva seated between Albus’ outstretched legs and reclining back against his chest. They had spent from Friday morning ‘til now in each other’s arms in one way or another.

Albus chuckled to himself. They had surely made love more times since arriving at the house than the total number of times he’d had sex in all the thirty years since Sara’s death. So much for Minerva overseeing his recuperation and ensuring he did not overtax himself! The past hour or so had been spent in gentle conversation, sharing vignettes from their childhoods, as his energy was finally beginning to flag noticeably—not surprising for someone who had been hovering near death less than a week ago. However, every time she had teasingly chastised him for being a bad patient, he had explained that certain activities, while physically demanding, were actually extremely invigorating and restorative in other ways, and that he was sure his overall recovery would not be hindered in the slightest.

Minerva would be returning to the castle to resume her regular load of teaching and administration in the morning, while he stayed behind for a few more days to get some of the rest which had been the ostensible reason for retreating to Wales in the first place. She would join him in the evenings. Albus had hoped that before she left they might discuss the shape their new relationship would take going forward, but Minerva had rebuffed every attempt he’d made to open the topic. She had either changed the subject, or silenced him with a kiss or some other gesture. She seemed afraid to have the conversation. Perhaps, he pondered, it was the same fear that had led her to take the initiative so brashly when they had first arrived—fear that whatever they decided on would be less than her heart desired, or could bear.

“Minerva, have you ever gone sailing?”

“No. You?”

“Oh, yes. A lot as a boy. It was one of my favourite pastimes. We had some property along the Tawe, a dock and boat house and a few dinghies, and I spent many a summer afternoon on the river and the coast. Just exploring various creeks and inlets, picnicking at whatever pretty bit of shoreline I found. Sometimes I’d invite some Muggle friends from my primary school days ‘round and we’d set racing courses for ourselves among the channel buoys. That feeling of slicing along in a stiff breeze, pushing the boat to its limits, feeling the wind and spray and sunshine—it was as exhilarating as doing magic, in a way. It was probably what kept me from running afoul of the restrictions on underage magic while I was home from Hogwarts in the summers—or at least not running afoul of them any more than I did.”

Minerva gave him a mock scowl. “Tsk tsk. Underage magic. What sort of a role model is our Headmaster, anyway?” She chuckled and then thought for a moment.

“Since you ask me, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a boat, actually. Not even spent much time around the water, except on the occasional holiday at the seaside. I wouldn’t have the first idea about how to sail a boat.”

“Well, it’s actually fairly easy, at least in a small dinghy. The hardest part is learning how to plot a course from one point to another—that’s not at all intuitive at first, because in sailing the shortest way between two points is never a straight line.”

“Oh?”

Albus proceeded to explain how sailors have to set a zigzag course, as the wind is rarely blowing precisely in the direction which would allow them to sail directly towards their objective.

“So, you see your destination over there, and you keep it in mind, but you’re never heading directly at it. Instead you’re always approaching it obliquely, tacking back and forth across the imaginary line which does lead straight to your goal. You have to allow for the wind, for the tide and for other boats, and any of those may shift and cause you to have to aim quite wide of your goal for a few legs. But, the more favorable the wind, the more skilled the sailor and the better trimmed the sails, the closer you can stay to that most direct route. You’ll have narrower zigs and zags, smoother course changes, and less wasted energy.”

He gently shifted Minerva around so he could look directly into her eyes.

“You and me, married, growing old together, our love growing ever stronger—that is my heart’s desire, Minerva. What is yours?”

Her breath caught and he saw wonder in her eyes. Wonder and joy and relief. “Oh, Albus, the same, the same.”

He leaned forward and gently took her lips in his. Their kiss deepened as each absorbed what had just been said—that they both desired to be together as one for the rest of their days.

When they finally broke apart, Minerva’s brows were slightly furrowed.

“But whatever does this have to do with sailing?”

“Oh, everything, I think, my dear.” A smile quirked at Albus’ lips as he realized his intuitive thought processes had once again baffled logical Minerva.

“Now at last we both know where we want to end up. But given the realities of the world, we still can’t just head directly there. So we need to figure out what course we can take that will be the closest to taking us directly there, while allowing for all the opposing forces. How close to that direct line can we stay, and where do we need to change headings—so it may look to others like we’re headed somewhere else, but we know we are not leaving our true course? What can we agree on as a course that takes all factors into account? To drop the nautical metaphor, what compromises do we need to make, and what risks can we both accept, now knowing that we share the same dream?”

“Ah, I see now. Yes, sailing is perhaps a helpful metaphor, in a way.”

“So….” He traced his fingers along her cheek.

Minerva’s brows furrowed again as she considered the dangers they would face as a couple. “I do not think we can have a public wedding. Or even one which is recorded, or done by a Ministry official.”

“I agree.” He tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.

“As much as I hate to think it, I do not think we can even allow anyone beyond our closest friends to know we are together. At least not until He Who—Voldemort—is defeated.”

“But that would mean never acting like a couple in public—not at the School, or anywhere. Not a single caress, or public embrace.” He looked into her eyes searchingly.

“I know. It would be very hard. But not as hard as denying our love completely, as we were doing before.”

“True.”

“We couldn’t wear rings. At least not without enchanting them.” She reached for his hand.

“No. And I really don’t think I could wear an enchanted ring—I would constantly be stroking or twisting it whenever I thought of you—and that would look very odd if it were invisible!”

“We would have to be very careful visiting each other’s quarters.”

“Maybe not. The castle seems to think we should be together. It reconfigured my suite the night I got back from St Mungo’s. I woke up in a king size bed and with twice as much space in the suite as before—it was quite amazing. The remodel even included adding a secret direct connection to your rooms in Gryffindor Tower, so you can be accessible to your cubs without them suspecting anything.”

“Okay, I now take back all the times I’ve cursed the castle for spontaneously rearranging itself right when I was in a hurry to get somewhere!” They both laughed.

And so they wrestled with the practicalities of aspiring to be Mr and Mrs Dumbledore in the midst of a war. Their conversation continued over the sumptuous dinner which Whimsy set out on the dining table.

[esoterica1693]

“There is one other thing which gives me great concern, Minerva. It makes me wonder whether we can, whether I can, do this at all.”

“What is that?” Minerva’s eyes narrowed.

“The other secrets. Not the secret of our being together—I can live with keeping that secret, as hard as it might be at times. I mean the secrets I need to keep as leader of the Order. I do not believe husbands and wives should have secrets from each other. Secrets corrode. But I must continue to keep some things to myself—for the Order’s sake. Not that I wouldn’t trust you to guard them with your life. I would. Which is just the problem. Some things you are better off not knowing, for your own safety.

“But that means I would be asking you to love, trust and pledge yourself to me wholeheartedly, yet I would be keeping things from you. Major things, things which occupy much of my energy and attention at times, and weigh on me greatly. Things which literally give me nightmares.”

He looked at her sternly. “I have to warn you, sharing my life, and my bed, will not always be comforting, Minerva. Yet often I will not be able to talk about it.

“It has been hard enough as colleagues and dear friends. How could we bear it as spouses? I don’t think I can ask that of you. A wife should be able to expect much better from her husband. You deserve more. A marriage cannot be built around secrets. I honestly do not know if I can be married or totally devoted to anyone as long as I bear the curse of leadership in this war.”

Albus’ eyes were moist as he spoke. The thought of having to keep important parts of himself shielded from his beloved offended his deepest beliefs about marriage and trust and caused literal pain to stab into his heart. But the image of Minerva being tortured, or of her knowledge inadvertently damaging some crucial strategy, was just as painful.

Nor, frankly, did he want her to have to endure the other things that came with the curse of leadership. He would not have her feel the bitter stomach as he tried to choose between the lesser of several evils, the self-doubt and blame when others suffered, the frequent nightmares which often left him drenched in sweat, Fawkes nearby, summoned by his cries. It was enough that she would have to lie beside him as he tossed and turned, and watch him pace long into the night, and endure his absences on journeys he could not discuss. He could not burden her further.

Minerva thought in silence for minutes that seemed like hours, while Albus’ heart pounded in his chest. He could not believe he was risking throwing away everything they had gained over the past week, but he knew this was a crucial matter which could destroy their relationship if not addressed directly.

“Albus. You are right--such secrets between us will be the hardest thing. But I am not in love with some abstract Albus Dumbledore. I am in love with the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore who is the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and who chairs the Wizengamot, and who is going to continue to do those things. That is the Albus I love. And because that is who you are, you must have these secrets. If I am to love you, to be your beloved, I must accept that. And so I do. Willingly if not happily. Knowing it will sometimes be very painful. I am sure there are days I will be absolutely furious with you because of it, and other days that my heart will want to break because of your pain. But if those are the only terms on which we can be together, then I accept them.”

“Minerva, I do not deserve you. But if you are sure….at least know how desperately I wish it could be otherwise, and how I regret the pain I know it will cause.”

“I know, and yes, I am sure.”

Albus reached across the table and took both Minerva’s hands in his.

“Minerva McGonagall, will you have me as your husband, even though it means sacrificing so much that any wife deserves?”

“Albus, nothing would make me happier. I will.”

Albus stood and stepped away from the table and pulled Minerva to him. “Minerva, my love, and my life.”

They decided to exchange their vows formally the next weekend, at Tŷ Golau, witnessed only by the Flamels, Poppy, Alastor (only very recently discharged from the occupational therapy unit at St Mungo’s), Fawkes and Whimsy. Albus demonstrated his sentimental streak by suggesting that, in lieu of rings, each should give the other some piece of jewelry which they could wear fairly openly, with its full significance known only to the couple.

And so the following Saturday Tŷ Golau was filled with sunshine, laughter and joy. Standing on the deck overlooking the crashing waves, circled by their closest friends and companions, Albus and Minerva vowed themselves to each other to love and to cherish, for better and for worse, forsaking all others, until parted by death. Minerva placed a gold Gryffindor lion pendant on a rope chain around Albus’ neck while Albus fastened a delicate silver chain bearing a cat-shaped charm around hers. They had finally committed themselves to the love which every one of their witnesses had recognized long before they did.

Albus and Minerva returned to Hogwarts the next day in time for dinner. Students and faculty remarked among themselves that the ten days’ recuperation in Wales had certainly done Albus good. His eyes twinkled even more than usual and the spring in his step assured them all his wounds were completely healed. Minerva’s Gryffindors noted that their stern Head of House even had something vaguely resembling a smile at the edge of her lips. Clearly she was relieved that the Headmaster was fully recovered and resuming all the responsibilities she had assumed while he was incapacitated.

[esoterica1693]

Albus wrapped his arms around his wife and rested his head against hers, and she leaned into his embrace. The two were reclining on the sofa in their Hogwarts sitting room. Both stared into the flames in the fireplace, recalling the sad events of the day. They had spent the afternoon attending the memorial service for the Prewett brothers and the reception Molly and Arthur Weasley had hosted afterwards.

“With those two boys underfoot, and a third due in the new year, at least Molly won’t have too much time on her hands to brood. As I recall she was very close to her brothers.” Albus thought back to the young Molly Prewett who had been Gryffindor Prefect and older sister to Gideon and Fabian.

“Yes. I remember when they were all students. She was a very watchful older sister. I imagine Fabian and Gideon were thankful when Arthur began occupying more of her time—gave them a bit of breathing space! They got even more detentions!”

“Well, she and Arthur certainly haven’t been letting the current darkness dampen their hope for the future. Three children in five years. We won’t have to worry about low enrollment at Hogwarts in a few years.”

“I’m surprised they don’t have more. Considering the number of times I rousted them out of dark corners in their seventh year, I rather expected their first would arrive soon after they graduated. When they eloped so hastily I was sure of it.”

“I guess they were just too in love to wait one minute longer to get married than they had to. And they seem to be a very happy couple. Totally devoted to each other.”

“Having Arthur to lean on will help Molly get through this. They are fortunate to have each other. Underneath all her busyness I think she is quite devastated. You could see it when she thanked us for bringing them back--she almost broke down.” Minerva’s voice betrayed her own emotion, and Albus tightened his arms around her.

“Dammit, Albus. When I retired from the Auror Corps and came to Hogwarts, I thought I was leaving scenes like that behind. I never dreamed that someday I’d see my former students die in combat in front of me, and have to carry their bodies back to their families, and attend their funerals. So much for escaping combat command for the sheltered life of a schoolmarm.”

“Hmm. Yes. I think I’ve now been to almost as many funerals in my kindly-old-headmaster guise as I saw in my days in uniform.”

“Speaking of uniforms, we both need to dust ours off. I see that the Ministry is actually going to award decorations for that battle—I think the ceremony is set for the end of October. I guess Molly will collect the twins’ medals—Order of Mars, I think. Alastor’s getting the same. And you another Jove (spear) to add to your quiver. While someone seems to have decided that getting you out of there alive rates me a Merlin 2nd Class. A bit much for a crazed little tabby cat who was only in a few seconds’ danger, I think. Wonder if I should accept it in my animagus form?”

“Where would they pin the ribbon then, Tabby? Could be a bit painful!

“Seriously, don’t scoff at what you did. I looked at the battle in my pensieve before I wrote up the medal recommendations. There were tons of deadly spells bouncing all around down there—you could have easily been hit by one of them, small tabby or no. Anyone who would throw herself back into a battle like that after having gotten safely away once deserves any medal she’s given. And even if the Ministry granted a higher award than they might have otherwise because of my perceived importance—just consider it one of the rare times that being around The Great Albus Dumbledore has earned you some benefit. It’s certainly cost you enough overall.”

“The benefits are not as rare as you seem to think, my love. Take today. A terribly sad occasion. But just feeling you standing beside me made all the difference. It looked no different than all the times we’ve stood together at functions as colleagues, but it was. Thank you.”

“You’re right—it was for me too. It was as if I was leaning on your love, even though we never touched. Just as Molly and Arthur lean on each other.”

“Mmm.” Minerva purred contentedly in her husband’s arms.

[revolutionaryetude]

These updates are great. I love how Minerva understood Albus' postion & problems. I feel bad though that she and him have to keep it secret. You did a good job showing how seemlessly they fell into married life!

[esoterica1693]

Winter 1978

Minerva nudged Albus’ elbow and nodded towards the Gryffindor table. “It does seem to be the season for love for some of our favourite lions, Albus.”

“Hmm….you don’t mean Lily and James? They’re a couple? No!”

“Yes. Your making them Head Boy and Girl seems to have had some unanticipated consequences. Amazing what effect being forced to work together closely with someone can have.” Minerva’s arm moved almost imperceptibly so that her elbow brushed Dumbledore’s for a fraction of a second.

“I should say so.” Dumbledore smirked.

“It helps that James’ maturity is finally catching up to his magical ability. Gryffindor Tower has been slightly less chaotic this year.”

“I’m glad. For your sake and for Lily’s! I would like to see her well-matched.”

“By the way, she’s finally figured out your connection. She asked me yesterday if Sara Evans was related to you in some way. She said she’d recently discovered she and Sara were related, and when she did some research into Sara, she read about her married name being Dumbledore, though she very rarely used it. I said yes, that in fact she had been Mrs Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

“That does rather narrow it down a bit. Can’t be too many of those around.” The twitch at the corners of Albus’ lips was so slight that only Minerva could possibly have noticed.

“No. Not too many.” Minerva studied her goblet of pumpkin juice closely, as if it was the subject of some extremely advanced transfiguration problem. If she so much as looked at Albus her expression would give them away to anyone paying the slightest attention to their conversation. Their love of wordplay would be the death of their secret some day.

“I’m surprised it’s taken her this long. Their resemblance is truly uncanny, especially considering that she’s only a cousin twice removed. It’s the eyes most of all. Given how much time Lily spends in the library, it’s a wonder none of her gang noticed the similarities, and the name, before now. It’s amazing how the genes reappeared—both her looks and her magic—after three generations without any magic at all in that line. ”

“Well, since Lily’s Muggle-born, it probably never occurred to her she could be related to a witch who had been on the faculty here, no matter how much they looked alike. And Evans is a common enough name.”

“True. But perhaps now she will understand the odd glances I’m sure I’ve given her on occasion. More than once when I’ve been tired, or the torches have cast shadows at night, I’ve done a double-take. I know she’s Lily, but for a split second it’s as if I’m looking at Sara.”

“Even I do that sometimes, though when I knew Sara she was older than Lily is now. So I can only imagine what it must be like for you. And I think Lily is very much intrigued by Sara now that she’s made the connection. She had assumed that her family was 100% muggle for generations. She’s amazed to find another witch in the family, even if a fairly distant relation. And, umm, I’m afraid I may have overstepped, Albus.”

“How?”

“I told her that you’d be happy to tell her more about Sara if she was interested.”

“Of course I would be. You haven’t overstepped at all. In fact, now that I know she knows, maybe I’ll bring the subject up myself.”

- - - -
Albus and Lily sat at the table in the Restricted Section of the Library, both facing towards the portrait of Sara that was just visible through the door of the Librarian’s office. Albus cast a light Silencing charm around them. He didn’t want other students hearing him speak of his personal life, and oddly enough, nor did he want Sara’s portrait listening. Perhaps he was afraid she would interrupt him and deny some of the more flattering adjectives. She had never received compliments well.

“So, Miss Evans, you have at last noticed the strong resemblance between yourself and our former Librarian, who also happens to share your last name. And you would like to know more about her.”

“Yes. I guess I should have made the connection earlier, but I never dreamed I could have anything to do with a Hogwarts faculty member. And, to be honest, Headmaster, students don’t have much reason to linger near Madam Pince’s office. If it weren’t for all the extra research I’ve been doing in Charms this semester, I don’t think I would have ever stepped inside the door.”

“I can appreciate that. I understand Madam Pince is not known for being particularly chummy with students.”

“You could say that.”

At this Albus could not help but chuckle.

“Well, the first thing to help you know Sara is to say she had the same title, and occupied the same office, as Madam Pince does, but that is the extent of their similarities. Well, I suppose I should also say Sara was equally passionate about her duties as Hogwarts librarian, for Irma is incredibly dedicated to her work and to the School, but Sara demonstrated it very differently. So, first, wipe away any preconceptions you may have formed of Sara based on her position.”

“I know I really shouldn’t say this, Headmaster,” Lily’s eyes darted around to make sure Pince was not lingering nearby, “but that is a relief. The thought of being related, even distantly, to a Madam Pince…well, it was sort of depressing, to be frank.”

Albus had to purse his lips to keep from laughing out loud and saying something which was even less professional than what he had said already. Pince was a valued faculty member, even if she wasn’t the most progressive or engaging of librarians, and he was the Headmaster.

Once the danger of laughing had passed, Albus met Lily’s eyes. The resemblance was absolutely eerie. “Sara was, among many other things, a keen judge of character, and could be rather forthright in her opinions. She had a dry sense of humor, and if she thought the situation warranted it, she could be rather acerbic. She did not suffer fools gladly, but only those who were clearly derelict in their duties towards others truly felt her sharpness. That sometimes included her husband. She had a particularly effective Twitchy Ears Hex if she thought you needed to be brought down a peg.” Albus grinned. “And more than one Ministry blowhard could testify to the power and speed of her Tongue-Tying Curse.”

“So, who was Sara Evans…..She was witty, and brilliant, and beautiful—I admit to being rather biased, but I think the evidence stands on its own merits. She was very talented magically. She was a most generous and compassionate person so long as not provoked by carelessness or idiocy. She knew how to enjoy herself, and helped others do the same. She was almost always cheerful, known for her bubbling laughter. Her taste for bright robes was exceeded only by my own. She could be playful, and among the faculty was known as a bit of a practical jokester. When we combined forces against some hapless colleague we were a formidable team.

“She put little stock in society’s views of women. She was passionate, in every sense of that word, and her passion energized others. She could be rather headstrong at times.

“She was a natural teacher, and enjoyed working with students, helping them find what they needed. She was among the younger faculty members—in her 30s when she first joined the faculty—and that, plus her not having the power of grades over them, meant that students found her approachable, I think. She was easy to get to know, and didn’t put any stock in House or blood prejudices.

“Very few students knew we were married, so most assumed she was a single witch, and I think some of the girls looked at her as sort of an older sister, or a youngish aunt. On occasion I’d send some student of mine who was in some sort of emotional crisis to her for a cuppa and a listening ear, or a shoulder to cry on. She was a Ravenclaw, and though Professor Flitwick was Head of Ravenclaw even then, Sara was sort of his unofficial deputy. Adolescent girls can sometimes be such mysteries to a male Head of House!”

“She was a Ravenclaw? I can’t imagine you being married to anyone but a Gryffindor, Headmaster!”

“Well, I suspect the Sorting Hat had to think quite a bit. She could have been a Gryffindor, indeed. She was courageous. But under normal circumstances it was a courage expressed by contending for her intellectual convictions and insights, rather than in visible heroics. Her work for the Magical Secret Service was courageous—but again, a courage manifested primarily through her intellect. Though she certainly proved herself more than heroic in the conventional sense when it counted.”

The brightness went out of Albus’ voice on this last sentence and he looked away so that Lily would not see the pain in his eyes. More than thirty years and he still could not think of Sara’s death without getting emotional.

“She worked for the Secret Service?”

“Yes. She started with the Ministry shortly after leaving Hogwarts. The Muggle Great War started the next year and there was lots of stuff that needed doing. She monitored news reports, analysed intelligence data, wrote reports about the Muggle war and how it might impact our world. Being Muggle-born, and always in close contact with her Muggle family and friends was a real help.

“Then in the ‘20s when things seemed calmer, she moved into library work—first at the Ministry, which is where she was when I first met her, then here. The Secret Service called her back to work part time in the late ‘30s, and as the war with Grindelwald worsened, she did more and more. Once or twice she traveled to the field to look at things first hand and deliver her analysis in person, though almost all of her work was done here, in the privacy of our quarters. By the time Sara was killed, she was spending more time on Ministry matters than on Hogwarts business, but few knew that.”

“Sort of like you and the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Yes, I guess you could say that! She was utterly committed to fighting the forces of Dark. I’m sure if she were alive now she’d be a key part of the fight against Voldemort, leaving aside any connection to me. She was always very determined on any matter of principle.”

“You said she was killed? In the war?”

“Yes.”

“Because of her intelligence work?”

“Oh no, that was never discovered. She was killed only because she was married to me, and I was known to be in command of the task force going after Grindelwald. She was tortured to death to try and compromise me. She and our infant son died rather than betray my mission and men.” Albus’ voice broke slightly.

“I’m so sorry.” Lily reached out and touched his arm.

“It’s alright. I mean, it was awful, absolutely horrific, but Sara wouldn’t want anyone’s pity, and neither do I. That’s why I don’t generally talk about it with students. I only made an exception today because she’s your relative, the closet magical relation you have, and you deserve to know how very brave she was, and to be proud of her.

“She believed in what we were doing, and it was an absolutely crucial point in the war, things could have gone very badly if the enemy had gotten the slightest advantage—she was incredibly committed, and courageous. And, and--she was devoted to me, which was her real undoing….”

At this Albus took a deep breath and put his head in his hands. After a few moments he continued, his voice steadier.

“I’m sorry. It’s been years and years since I’ve been this emotional about it. It must be, well, the current situation with Voldemort—it brings all the memories closer to the surface, I guess. People are having to make hard decisions again, and are dying for them, and seeing their loved ones die.

“So, Miss Evans, always remember--you are related to a witch who was not only kind, and generous, and funny, and powerful, and headstrong, and intelligent, but also very brave, and who died for what she believed in and for those she loved.

“From the day you first walked into the Castle those of us who knew Sara and know of your connection have remarked on how much you resemble her, how looking into your eyes is like meeting hers. How uncanny it is that her features and some of her magic seem to have resurfaced in you three generations later. And as we have gotten to know you, the resemblance has only seemed stronger. Sara would be very proud of you. I am very proud of you. I know you’ll continue to make us proud when you leave Hogwarts.”

“Thank you very much for telling me all this, Headmaster. It’s very humbling. But you’re right—it’s also inspiring. To know that I do have such a witch in my family, amidst all the Muggles. I knew intellectually there had to be someone magic back there somewhere, but I’ve always felt like a total anomaly. I’ve envied my classmates from magical families—the way they have other witches and wizards to look to as role models.”

“I perhaps should have told you about Sara long before this, then. But I thought it would be awkward for you to know you were related to me, in even such a roundabout way. And to know that every time I look at you I’m reminded so strongly of my late wife might have been a bit disconcerting, to say the least! Plus I have had to be careful not to show you any favoritism, or to project Sara onto my sense of you. But I’m glad you can claim her as a role model now. And if, after you graduate, you consider me sort of a distant uncle, I’d be honored.

“Here. Now you have something to remember your magical relation by.” Albus handed Lily a small wallet-sized reproduction of the library portrait of Sara.

“Thank you, Headmaster. That is very generous and thoughtful. And I do understand why you didn’t say anything. It’s very personal, and your personal life is just that---yours. So I really appreciate your telling me all this. I will try to do Sara and you proud.” She stared at the portrait in her hand

“I know you will. Now I think it’s time for us to head to the Great Hall for dinner, is it not?”

[revolutionaryetude]

I'm glad that Dumbledore has this connection now with Sara. Ahh but the parrallels of what soon to be was very clever. I was glad Minerva handled it well too, being the delicate subject that it was. But I would expect no less of her!

[esoterica1693]

A/N:

I was going to have my next chapter be Albus and Minerva getting away from the stresses of Vold War I on a vacation, so I began to ponder just what might prompt Min to insist Albus take a break. Before I could get them away from the Castle, however, the following scene absolutely insisted on being written.

**Warning for graphic description of a death. Minor character; major gore.** [See OotP 174 (US ed.) for the canon basis.]

Now that it's written, my muse can focus more clearly on their vacation. I imagine Florence might be lovely in the springtime....

- - - - -

Minerva McGonagall climbed the steps of Gryffindor Tower glad that the day was nearly over. She had had a full day of teaching, followed by policing the Quidditch pitch as Gryffindor and Slytherin practiced for the next day’s match. The winner would take the Quidditch cup and emotions and tempers were high. Most of her evenings for the next week would be occupied overseeing detentions as a result of the several near-duels that had broken out.

Upon arriving at the Great Hall for dinner she’d found hungry students and staff waiting for the food to be served—Albus had apparently been detained at his Ministry meetings longer than he anticipated and had not managed to get word to the School. She had only picked at her meal, a thick beef stew, not one of her favorite dishes anyway. If she was honest she had to admit she was worried about Albus’ unexplained absence, though there was really no cause for concern. With the recent increase in Voldemort’s activity it was about time the Ministry started having longer meetings and working out better strategies. Maybe they would finally begin taking more of Albus’ advice. After dinner she had made her regular rounds of the Castle and was now looking forward to putting her feet up for the rest of the evening.

She made a quick tour of the Common Room and dormitories to check on her cubs. All was calm, or at least as calm as could be expected the night before the Quidditch Cup would be determined. At last she could curl up in front of the fire and escape into a Muggle novel while she awaited Albus. Maybe he had already returned.

“Luscious Lollies.” She said the password, stepped through the painting into their private quarters, and her jaw immediately dropped. Albus and Alastor Moody were sprawled against each other on the sofa, both clutching nearly-empty bottles of firewhisky and clearly very drunk. Albus was clad only in his underrobes, which were stained with whisky, and he looked to be on the verge of passing out. His glasses lay on the floor some feet in front of the sofa. Alastor’s shirt was half unbuttoned and totally untucked from his trousers. He appeared to be somewhat more alert than Albus, but far from sober. Minerva’s sensitive nose detected the smell of burnt fabric beneath the reek of whisky and a swift glance at the fireplace explained the wizards’ state of undress—charred remnants of both their robes could be seen in the ashes of the fire. Their wands were stuck at crazy angles into the peat in the large potted plant which sat next to the hearth.

“Albus! Alastor! What on earth?!” Minerva had never seen Albus this drunk in all the decades she’d known him, and she was not amused.

He turned to look at her, his attempt to focus his gaze only somewhat successful. “Had a bit of a rough day, you know?” he said thickly, quirking an eyebrow and attempting a smile, which instead turned to a grotesque leer.

“No, I most certainly do not know, Albus Dumbledore! I’ve been worried about you all evening and here you two are on a Friday night binge like a bunch of dissolute teenagers...”

Alastor cut across Minerva’s building rant. “You haven’t heard, then?”

“Heard what?”

“About Benjy?”

“No. What about him?” Minerva’s brow furrowed with concern. Benjy Fenwick was an Order member. He’d graduated from Hogwarts a few years before and had been one of Minerva’s favorite students in his year. Albus’ too.

Alastor suddenly seemed much more sober. “Killed this morning. We saw the Mark over his flat as we were walking to the Ministry. We were the first ones there. They’d gotten away, of course, but they left a note saying that what they did to him was just a demonstration of what they’ll do to all Order members in turn." Minerva noticed a blood-stained parchment on the floor next to the sofa. "We only found pieces of him.”

“Pieces?” Minerva reached for the back of a nearby chair to steady herself.

“Just bits and pieces,” Alastor repeated.

Albus tipped his bottle to his mouth. “Sheen shtewmee bigger.”

Alastor saw Minerva’s uncomprehending look and translated. “Have seen packages of stew meat that were chopped bigger.”

Minerva clapped her hand over her mouth as her dinner rose in her throat, and dashed for the loo. She emerged several minutes later, pale and somewhat shaky

Albus was sitting up straighter, and looked at her with a mix of compassion and concern. Minerva suspected the wizards had attempted to cast sobriety charms on each other while she had been in the bathroom, but with only partial success. Alastor stood at the sideboard, swaying slightly. He offered her a glass with a short finger of smoking whisky in it. “Helps kill the aftertaste.”

She knocked it back in one and held the glass out to him in a trembling hand for a refill before making her way to one of the chairs facing the sofa. The whisky did cut the taste of bile that still coated her throat and mouth. Alastor sat down heavily in the chair opposite.

“Of course we sent word of the attack to the Ministry, and his parents, and then did what we could to collect—to clean up. It took a while, and by then his parents had arrived, so we talked to them, and gave them…what we could.” Alastor closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “Then we went on to the meeting we’d been headed to originally, ‘The Current Security Situation and Outlook.’ ”

Minerva sipped slowly at the glass in her hand as Alastor continued. “They had listed the attack on the status board at the back of the room, but you wouldn’t have known they’d even heard of it. At about 4 the Minister wrapped up his remarks--about how things were going well, that while there are still occasional acts of violence the recent increase in Auror Patrols had calmed the public’s fears and the overall outlook was very positive. They’re still talking about Voldemort like he’s the leader of some mid-sized teen gang. Scrimgeour knows better, but the official Ministry line, and the Minister’s opinion, are unchanged.”

Now Albus spoke--his voice was tinged with anger, which also seemed to have a sobering effect. “On our way out the Minister said how it was so nice of us to have joined them. Said that in future, however, could we ‘please take a few more minutes with our appearance, to set an example’?”

Alastor elaborated. “We’d Scourgified our robes before we left Benjy’s but must have missed a few spots. We were both pretty upset—our magic wasn’t very focused. ‘In future could we please take a few more minutes with our appearance.’ Alastor hissed the last line. “Bastard.”

“I grabbed Alastor and Disapparated us before he hexed him.”

Albus tipped his bottle up, emptying it, and then used it to gesture around the disheveled room. He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “So. Here we are. Safe and sound, just having a little party to toast the rosy future of my little Order and all its members. Nothing to worry about. All is well. Just ask the Minister. Or Benjy. Oh, wait, we can’t ask Benjy, can we?”

And with sudden fury he hurled the bottle into the fireplace, where it shattered into bits and pieces over the remnants of his robes.

[revolutionaryetude]

This was a well writen and intense chapter. Can't wait until the update.

[esoterica1693]

A/N:
They just couldn't get off to Florence without more drama. A vacation in such a beautiful place needs to be *earned*, you know!

Hopefully-obvious disclaimer: Do NOT use this post for medical advice, either magical or muggle. Depression and substance abuse are serious illnesses which require skilled and qualified professionals to treat. And they are treated somewhat differently in the magical world than in us muggles.

- - - - - - - -

Albus flipped the pages of his diary, reviewing his obligations for the remainder of the term and battling a growing headache. Balancing his Hogwarts duties, his obligations to the Wizengamot, his other many consultations for the Ministry, and his role as leader of the Order was no small task.

His eye suddenly caught on 14 days which were marked out with large black Xs—“AD and MM away--IWCTM” lettered on each in Minerva’s neat hand. He scrawled a quick note to her—“Please see me before dinner re April calendar”--and summoned Fawkes to deliver it to her office.

“Minerva, what is the meaning of this?” His face was serious, his tone perturbed as he gestured to the diary pages.

“We are taking a break. A holiday. A working holiday, but a holiday. The International Wizarding Consultation on Theoretical Magic is meeting in Florence this year, and we are attending. With some time beforehand to do final research at the libraries there on the papers we will be presenting, and some time afterwards to simply relax.”

Albus was speechless for a minute. “You cannot be serious. I cannot possibly be away from Hogwarts, from Britain, for fourteen days in the current situation. And I have not submitted any paper to the Consultation. And both of us being away for fourteen days is absolutely unthinkable, for several reasons! I don’t know what you were thinking, Minerva.” He waved his hand over the diary to erase the entries, but they remained dark on the page.

“I am utterly serious, and what I am thinking of is you, and the Order, and the School, and, lastly, us. Those entries are completely indelible, so don’t even bother reaching for your wand. And your paper proposal has already been accepted and announced, as has mine.”

Albus’ jaw hung open. Minerva had never so much as changed a class syllabus without consulting him at least pro forma, but now she had submitted a paper proposal to a major conference on his behalf, and scheduled them both to be out of the country for a fortnight in the midst of a war, without so much as a mention to him in advance.

“When did you do this, and just when were you planning to inform me of it?” His tone was the firmest he had used with her in years.

“I just finalized the arrangements yesterday, and I was planning on discussing it and some other personal matters with you this weekend, if the topic had not presented itself before then. Which it now seems to have done.”

Albus clenched and unclenched his fists. If any mere employee or subordinate had done such a thing, he would be expressing his displeasure in no uncertain terms, and the witch or wizard would shortly be leaving his office lucky to still be employed. But this was Minerva, his trusted Deputy of two decades, who had never in that time made so much as one serious misstep in their professional partnership, and even more importantly, she was his wife!

“You will explain yourself!”

“Albus, you simply cannot go on as you are. You have not slept more than two hours any night since Benjy was killed, and you haven’t done more than pick at any meal. You’ve dropped nearly a stone, and it’s not like you’ve ever carried any extra weight. You don’t smile and your eyes are nearly dead. You haven’t said more than 5 words a day to me outside of school business. Aside from a morning and evening peck on the cheek, we hardly touch—which I’m beginning to think is just as well, as I’d rather not embrace a skeleton.

“The students and faculty are concerned, though they don’t dare say anything to you—you’ve snapped at more people and given out more detentions in the past month than in the past decade. The Order is worried about you, Poppy is more than worried about you, so is Nicolas, even Alastor. They’ve all paraded through my office in the past week, each saying they’ve tried but can’t get through to you, and is there anything I could do?”

Albus began to respond but Minerva held up her hand.

“You say you can’t be gone for two weeks? Well, it seems Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has been missing from this castle for the past month or more. Consider this trip and the preparations for it a rescue mission to bring him back. You’re right—we do need you here in times such as these—but we need YOU here, not this husk who has taken your place.”

“Husk?! Husk?! How dare you! Of course Benjy’s death has been on my mind. It would be on yours if you’d seen him! Minerva, you wonder why I don’t sleep at night? All my closest friends, and my former students who once looked to me as their Headmaster to guide and protect them, have put their trust in me, have joined my Order and put themselves at risk, all because of me. And for what?”

Without even realizing what he was doing, Albus stood, leaning forward on hands splayed on the center of his desk, staring down at Minerva with blazing eyes.

“Voldemort is stronger than ever, the Ministry as ineffective as always, and we are being slaughtered. Literally. Nothing we do deters him. No matter how we strategize, what missions we run. The giants have gone over to him, he’s got more Inferi every day, the goblins are divided. We are losing, Minerva. I sit here safe at Hogwarts while my friends are picked off one by one, and Muggles die by the half-dozen, and people wonder why I am a bit gloomy and short-tempered?! I am doing all I can think of to do, and it’s still not enough.

“I can’t eat because my stomach is in knots waiting for news of the next friend to die. People wonder why I can’t sleep? Maybe I should put my nightmares in that pensieve and have you, Poppy and Nicolas watch them. See all the ways I imagine each of you and the other Order members dying. I hope that’s the paper topic you’ve submitted for me: ‘A Taxonomy of Magical Torture Methods as Enhanced by the Dreaming Subconscious.’ “

“And in the midst of this you would have us go off on a two-week junket, engaging in esoteric academic debates and taking in museums, drinking Chianti and eating gourmet meals?!? Minerva, have you absolutely lost your mind?!!!” He slammed his hand down so hard it smarted.

Minerva stood now and stepped up to the edge of his desk. They were eye to eye.

“No, Albus, I most certainly have not lost my mind! But I know if you lose yours, you will take us all down with you! We do need you! But you have to listen to me. Please!”

“As I haven’t yet thrown you out of my office for insubordination, I rather thought that listening was what I was doing, Professor.”

Minerva’s green eyes flashed, her legendary temper barely restrained. She never thought she’d be tempted to hex her own husband.

“And as I have yet to go to the Board of Governors to ask them to place you on an involuntary medical leave of absence, Headmaster, we’re even.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Albus roared, and he leaned forward ever further. Magical energy crackled off him and made the hair on Minerva’s neck stand up.

“I would dare, and I damn well will if I have to! Poppy says they’d have no choice given what she would write.”

Albus suddenly blanched, recalling all the potions Poppy had dispensed to him over the past months, albeit with increasing reluctance, and he seemed to collapse in on himself.

Crediting him with two hours sleep a night had been a generous overstatement on Minerva’s part. What little sleep he had managed was due only to taking Dreamless Sleep potions in dosages that should have knocked him unconscious for hours, but gave him barely any relief. Occlumency was useless. Every night was filled with nightmares, whether he was asleep or awake. Nightmares of his friends dying, of Muggles dying. Flashbacks to the war with Grindelwald. He always cast silencio and stupefy over himself lest his screams and thrashings prevent Minerva from sleeping, but his eyes remained open and his breathing and pounding heart revealed his panic.

Yet by day he kept up the same punishing schedule as always, only now fueled by the magical equivalent of amphetamines and steriods in ever larger amounts, some from Poppy’s stocks, some purchased in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Recently he’d added a slight narcotic to the mix during the day to mask the trembling in his hands and take the edge off his temper, lest his magic go out of control as it now often threatened to do. But he brewed that particular potion himself--he knew even Poppy’s loyalty had its limits. Apparently he’d now reached them. Perhaps Minerva’s too. Which was something he could not bear to think on.

The two stood staring at each other, each breathing heavily, neither sure what would happen next.

“Albus, my love, please.” Minerva’s voice and eyes had softened. She reached a tentative hand to his face and lightly traced his gaunt cheekbone with her fingers. Her eyes betrayed her concern and fear, her touch incredible tenderness.

Albus closed his eyes and swallowed, and slowly sank back down into his chair.

“I admit I have perhaps not been managing as well as I might. But I do not see how taking a fortnight’s holiday in Italy is going to help me be the strong leader people need to see, to follow.”

“Going on as you are isn’t helping either.” Minerva had silently transfigured his desk chair to be wider and she came around and sat beside him, gently putting an arm around his bony shoulders.

Albus could make no response. Deep down he knew she was right. Lately his fears for his friends had been joined by fears for himself, as he had sensed himself coming close to slipping out of control.

He had repeatedly told himself that if only he could get some real sleep, if only the Ministry or Order would have some visible success against Voldemort, if only the killings would stop for a while, surely his equilibrium would be restored, his guilt eased. He was doing all he could to persuade the Ministry to act more boldly, to devise more clever strategies and better alliances, and he was constantly working to recruit more talent and personnel to the Order. He wracked his brain constantly to think of new approaches they might take, to no avail, so he continued on with increasingly frenzied intensity, trying to project strength and competence—someone had to, after all--and he had been convincing himself he was succeeding in that at least, even if not in defeating Voldemort.

Evidently he was not.

“But what else can I do?” Resignation tinged with despair had now replaced the anger in his voice.

“Albus, how many times have you turned to Nicolas for advice?”

“More than I can count.”

“And how many times have Alastor and Poppy helped you with one thing or another?”

“The same.”

Minerva took a deeper breath. “And how many times have you let me see your darker moments?—the end of your Fellowship? Ad nihilo? When you almost died at King’s Cross?”

“More than anyone else.”

“Has any of us ever let you down? Betrayed you? Steered you wrong? Judged you?”

“No. Never.” He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Albus, please. Trust me. Going on like you are clearly isn’t working. I know it doesn’t make sense on the surface to be focusing on an academic paper and a foreign holiday. But they can help. Along with a few other things. Please trust me. And Poppy and Nicolas. Trust us.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I don’t want to think about that. Albus, please. I love you. I have vowed, promised you… Please, let me help. Follow my lead, try these few strategies, try doing things differently. Let me be the strong one for once. Just for a month. Look on it as an experiment if you must, if that helps you accept it. But please, trust me at least that much.”

They were both silent as Albus considered her words and his predicament.

“I will….try.”

“That is all I can ask, my dearest love. Thank you.” She leaned closer and kissed his cheek. His skin was hot, he was trembling, and his heart was racing.

“What are you afraid of? I mean right now, right here, not in your nightmares.”

He took a deep breath. How had he, the most powerful wizard in Britain, come to this? His eyes burned. He wrenched open his heavily-warded bottom desk drawer and tossed several handfuls of assorted potion vials onto the blotter. “Obviously your plan includes Poppy cutting me off, as well she should—but she should know I’ve been supplementing her stocks quite a bit.”

Minerva concentrated very hard to keep her voice steady. Her heart was breaking to see Albus’ pain and shame, his attempts at strength beyond what anyone could or did expect, the hideous consequences of his old ‘atonement complex’ having returned and run amok. But right now he would surely mistake her emotion for condemnation. She carefully picked up a few of the vials as nonchalantly as she would her students’ half-transfigured buttons or needles.

“Yes, she probably should see these. Though I don’t think you need to worry about her ‘cutting you off,’ as you put it. She’s neither cruel nor careless, Albus, and she is your friend! This isn’t about punishing you—it’s about helping you, helping us!

“I’m sure eventually she’ll want to have you back to your normal regimen of nothing stronger than sherbert lemons and hot chocolate, but she’s not going to rush anything. I’ll take these down to her and let her have a look, and then bring them back. Why don’t you write out exactly what you’ve been taking, absolutely everything, and I’ll give that to her too. You can charm it for her eyes only.

“But before I even do that, let me tell you what I propose. I don’t think you’ll find my plan nearly as terrifying as you imagine.”

“Hmm.”

“The most difficult thing first: you will eat at least a respectable amount of real food at every meal, even if you have no appetite. Poppy and I will be watching. She can give you something if you genuinely can’t keep it down. You will also take a vitamin and strengthening potion. You’re on the verge of a physical breakdown, leaving all these vials out of it entirely.”

“As for the rest of the plan….we will have our daily Head-and-Deputy meetings outside, while taking a very brisk walk around the grounds, or in the corridors if it’s raining, and we’ll take another walk in the evening. We will resume our weekly dueling practice. We will spend half an hour a day at first, more as your concentration and interest increase, working on your paper for the conference, which you agree to attend. I will leave the rest of the holiday on the table for negotiation as it draws closer, but for now, for purposes of planning, we’ll assume we’ll both be away for a fortnight.

“You will have lunch with Nicolas weekly. You will let Poppy check you over daily to start with. She will begin helping you with the potions, which you will take precisely according to her prescription and with no additions or subtractions at all, but she won’t make any big changes right away.

“That’s it. The sum total of my grand plan. You will continue on with your duties here and with the Order as you have been in all other respects. Does it sound like something you can at least try?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice, Albus. You know that. Though I admit in this case, I really would rather you not take the alternative. Because I love you, Albus, and don’t want to see you hurting any more than you already are. You’d feel humiliated if we had to go to the Governors, and you’d eventually end up in St Mungo’s. I really don’t want to have to do that to you, even if it would be for your own good, as well as the good of the Order and our cause.”

“Hmm.” Albus pondered his situation further.

“You’re right, your plan isn’t exactly putting me on the rack. I don’t see how it will help that much, but I am willing to give it a try—anything is better than going on like this, I suppose. Though how will I have the time for two walks, half an hour or more of study daily, and regular dueling—when I’m already running full-out?”

“Because you will only be going to absolutely essential Ministry meetings. No more going to every possible event hoping that this will be the time you convince someone. If they haven’t listened by now, one more whisper from you won’t make a difference. I will make your excuses for you, and I will be quite firm. You will not be in that building for more than two hours a week if I can help it—Wizengamot and genuinely essential Hogwarts business only.”

Albus had to admit that didn’t sound half-bad, and his mouth quirked in the closest thing to a smile he’d shown in days.

“One other question. For now. Exactly what is the topic of this paper I’m supposedly writing?”

“It can really be almost anything—I turned in a very vague title and précis about sacrifice and old magic. It helped that the chair of the jury was an apprentice of mine some years back, and that you are The Great Albus Dumbledore, who rarely graces conferences with your presence anymore. I could have said you were writing about warm woolen socks and he would have accepted it. We’ll look over some of the materials you were working on a few years ago, before life got so blasted Interesting, and see where the footnotes lead.”

“Alright. Doable, maybe. With your help?”

“Of course. I am your leading research assistant, remember?”

“I do seem to recall. As well as being an excellent Deputy.”

He reached up and covered the hand that was resting on his shoulder with his own.

“I’m so sorry, Minerva. You are my love, my life. Always. You deserve so much better.”

“No apologies, Albus. Let’s go down to dinner, and you can show me your gratitude by eating a bit of meat and veg, eh? Get some energy for tonight’s walk. I meant it when I said ‘brisk.’ ”
- - - - -

[esoterica1693]

- - - - -

Albus submitted himself to Minerva’s regime obediently. She was right—he did find the eating to be the hardest part, even though the kitchen-elves were outdoing themselves in fixing the most tempting dishes for him. The conference paper hadn’t fully caught his interest yet, though it was good to be reminded of the solid work he’d been doing three or four years previously and to catch up on recent scholarship. The daily exercise of two very long and brisk walks and a few minutes’ solo dueling practice (he wasn’t so foolish as to resume going up against Minerva weekly without a taking a bit of extra practice on his own) was making it easier to sleep, at least early in the night, and also helped his appetite.

On their evening walks he and Minerva discussed any number of things unrelated to the war or administration of the school. She told him of the muggle novel she was reading, and asked him about the concert, art and theatre reviews in that day’s Prophet--which meant he actually had to resume reading the Prophet beyond the News section. She related the latest antics of her Gryffindors, described particularly promising essays or transfigurations from her advanced classes, and asked for his input on lesson plans.

He felt measurably less nervousness, anxiety and anger pulsing through him overall, and yet still had enough energy to complete his essential tasks. The changes were far from dramatic, but they were noticeable, and that was the first positive thing in any part of his life for some months. It was something, and he fastened to it what tiny bits of hope he could muster, clinging to them desperately as his mind still churned in the darkness.

After a few days Poppy made a few changes to the potions he was taking, reducing the narcotic substantially and the stimulants slightly, and adding various less problematic anti-anxiety agents, and he did not seem to notice, which was good. She was in close consultation with specialists at St Mungo’s, though she did not reveal the identity of her patient.

Albus had been tottering on the verge of clinical paranoia and psychosis from the stimulants, and opiate addiction from the narcotic, and she devoutly hoped they had managed to arrest the cycle before he deteriorated any further. The initial signs were promising. Clinical paranoia and psychosis in someone of his strategic prominence and magical power would have been disastrous in and of themselves. That he and Minerva were also her close friends would have made it all the more awful to watch.

If students and faculty noticed that the Headmaster and his Deputy were suddenly spending hours together walking the grounds, lost in conversation, they also noticed that he suddenly was eating better, and his temper didn’t seem to be quite as hair-trigger, and his color was improving, so they asked no questions and made no jokes. Their affection for him was immense, and to see him in such obvious torment and behaving so unlike his normal calm and cheery self had been yet another cause for anxiety in an already too-anxious world. If stern McGonagall could bring him out of his funk even a little, more power to her.

- - - - - - -

A week into their new routine, as they set out on their evening marathon, Albus finally asked Minerva more of her methods.

“Minerva, I’m not complaining, because I am feeling at least a little bit better, and that is something. But I have to admit I’m intrigued. I still don’t see how a little exercise and writing a paper and going to a conference is going to make much difference overall.”

“Well, as you said, it is helping a bit, and that’s more than something, considering. You were incredibly close to going over a most nasty precipice, Albus. If we have prevented that and are ever so slowly gaining some ground back, I think it is making a big difference. As to my methods…Poppy will gladly explain the clinical aspects, both of your predicament and what we’re attempting as a remedy. In short, in addition to the chemical issues, we’re working against severe depression and consequent despair and isolation.

“Let me speak instead of your importance to the Order and the fight against Voldemort, which are at the crux of the issue, for good and ill. You value yourself as a strategist, politician, and duelist. You presume that people join the Order out of loyalty to you personally, but you are mistaken. It is not your brilliance or skill that attracts followers and inspires their loyalty unto death. It is something entirely different.

“You articulate what it is we’re fighting for and so we fight alongside you. At your best you can describe, and even invoke and embody, Light and Hope and Life. Albus, over twenty years ago you gave an address commemorating the victory over Grindelwald which brought me and many others to tears. You talked about how we fought and sacrificed so that those who came after us could enjoy peace and hope and life in all its fullness. And when you spoke we felt that peace and hope and life rise up in us, to a degree far beyond what the words of your manuscript would have indicated.

“Perhaps that is why Fawkes chose you as his human. You have an ability which is somehow kin to phoenix song, to cheer and strengthen and inspire those around you by your very presence. And that is what draws people to follow you. Because when we look at you, are near your, you remind us of what we’re fighting for when it’s all too easy to forget, or go along making the easy choices instead of the hard ones. That is your truly powerful magic.

“Benjy, the twins, all the others—they didn’t fight for you, or die for you personally, any more than did those British aurors and civilians who died around you in 1945. They fought, we fight, for the Light, for Beauty, Love, for all that is good in wizardkind and all that Voldemort would destroy. You are simply the beacon which illuminated the path they were already following. They do not fight for you, and they do not die for you. And you absolutely must stop feeling responsible for their loyalty or their deaths.

“Do you understand what I’m trying to say, my love, even a bit?”

“Maybe. It seems that you are describing a person I perhaps knew once, but whom I haven’t seen recently. But he does sound at least vaguely familiar.”

“Which is why we’re going to Italy. To find him and bring him back here.”

“I still don’t understand the necessity of a holiday, to Italy or anywhere.”

“Because you can only be a beacon for Light and Beauty and Life for others when you can see them yourself. And you have lost sight of them. Understandably so, perhaps, as you have taken the responsibility for nearly all of wizarding Britain onto your shoulders. You need to get away from Britain, away from war and fear. You need to be where Beauty is unavoidable, where you are surrounded by the best achievements of humanity, muggle and wizarding. A place like Florence.”

“And the paper and conference?”

“Mainly a cover to get us both to Florence for two weeks without too many awkward questions! But also something for you to focus on every day that isn’t the war, isn’t about the Order. And something that will put you back in touch with the magic deeper and more beautiful than defensive spells and enchantments, the magic which runs so powerfully through your core, and spills out to the rest of us when you let it.”

“But I still don’t see how we can be away for two weeks in such times. The Order needs us. What if there is a major attack?”

“Fawkes can summon us in a moment. We will have portkeys with us at all times which can instantly return us to Hogwarts as quickly as if we were merely in London or Wales. And only a few people will know the exact dates of our trip.

“As far as the Order, remember what I said. What the Order needs from you most of all is your ability to inspire and reassure, not your presence at meetings. So, 'ad fontes', as they once said in Florence.”

“I still can’t honestly say I understand, Minerva. But I know I’m not at my best at the moment …. And I do trust you completely. You have never led me wrong. So, if you have any books about Florence, you can put them on my nightstand and I’ll have a look at them.”

“Oh Albus!’ Minerva cast a nonverbal concealing charm as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him gently on the lips.

“I don’t think I’ve told you nearly enough lately how very much I love you, Minerva.”

[revolutionaryetude]

Poor Albus! The weight of the world on his shoulders the man deserves a holiday. I knew Minerva would help him!

[PiER]

Finally I am up to date. I just don't know where to begin. This is just brilliant. I like that it took them time to finally realise and admit their feelings for one another. The battle scene was wicked. I also liked the way you handled their first love scene. Minerva's bravery and Albus's comments were done perfectly. Oh and whilst I remember I have to say how much I like the Flamels - I really like them!

Lily being related to Sara was a nice touch. To sing your praise just a bit more, the Jove Spear and Order of Mars were very inventive.

As for this last chapter, well it's a different idea. I have often thought of writing a story where someone is addicted to potions but I must admit that it being dear old lemon-drop-popping Albus has never actually occured to me, but the reasons you give are plausible. You explained his feelings very well. The ending of course was spot on and I look forward to more!

PiER

[esoterica1693]

Well, maybe he just transferred his addiction from amphetamines to lemon drops--much more benign, but he *is* very compulsive about them! And he tries to lure others into sharing his compulsion! :-)

The addiction thing just came out of nowhere while I was writing and I let it have its way. I do think it was very short term and situational, and not something he'll have to struggle w/ much over time. Basically just an outward manifestation of his compulsion to feel responsible for everything. HOpefully his recovery will teach him a few important lessons....

Thank you so much for your review and your praise. I'm loving your story too, and am eagerly awaiting your next update. Having Braelynn pay the price she did when she was the one who thought it was a bad idea from the first was just so awful, but so true to how things often work out.

[esoterica1693]

As the rest of the seventh-year Gryffindors hurried down the hallway after their last class of the day, eager to get outside into the spring sunshine, Lily Evans stood in front of her professor’s desk, somewhat puzzled as to why the Deputy Head had asked her to stay after the bell.

“Miss Evans, thank you for staying. I’ll try to make this brief. Don’t worry--it doesn’t have anything to do with Transfiguration, or Gryffindor, or your Head Girl duties. Actually, I have a rather personal favour to ask of you.”

“Oh. Of course, Professor.”

“I believe I have seen you and Miss Smith often reading the muggle fashion magazines in the Common Room, have I not?”

“Yes, but only after we’re done our homework, Professor. Or most of it, anyway.”

“I said this isn’t about school! Here.” Minerva pushed the ever-present tin of Ginger Newts towards the conscientious Head Girl. “It’s just that I find myself in need of knowledge concerning current muggle fashions, and I thought that you might be able to assist me, if you would.”

“Oh! Well, I’m hardly an expert, but I guess I do pay more attention than most witches, and being muggle-born, maybe I’m more familiar with such things. What do you need to know?”

“As I mentioned in class, I will be away at an academic conference in Florence, Italy next week. The actual conference will be in the wizarding district, of course. But I hope to spend a lot of my free time exploring muggle parts of the city—most of the art and architecture and shops are outside the magical areas. I’ll be there for a week, give or take, so I need to have several muggle outfits, and not particularly formal ones. I haven’t had to dress muggle for anything other than the occasional black-tie event in years, so I own nothing appropriate, and don’t even have enough of a mental image of what I need to be able to transfigure anything. And I know Florence is a rather fashion-conscious place. I am going clothes shopping in muggle London on Saturday. I was wondering if you could perhaps give it some thought, and tomorrow or Friday evening give me a brief tutorial in what I might look for, and where.”

“Yes, I could do that. It would be fun, actually. How about Friday evening right after dinner?”

“That would be fine. What is your favourite pudding? I’ll offer you something a bit nicer than whatever’s on the menu in the Great Hall.”

“Chocolate mousse, Professor, but you don’t have to do that.”

“Well, there is one other thing. Figuring out what someone with my tastes should buy is challenge enough. But the Headmaster will also be attending the conference, and admits that he needs to do some shopping as well, so we’ll be going to London together. I don’t expect him to seek my advice, much less follow it--he is, as you might gather, rather opinionated on the matter of his clothing, be it muggle or magical. However, if I could subtly influence him by directing him towards certain shops and departments, and away from others, or dropping a comment here or there, perhaps at least some, umm, missteps might be avoided. So, could your tutorial also include the basics of muggle men’s fashions?”

Lily had to smile at the image of her beloved but eccentric Headmaster shopping for muggle clothes, especially given the current fashions and his preference for attire that was considered bold even by wizarding standards. The Headmaster in bellbottoms, platform shoes and tie-dyes—his Deputy was right to be concerned.

“I see what you mean. Some gentle guidance could definitely be helpful. I will try to offer you what advice I can.”

“You will be earning that chocolate mousse, Miss Evans. Helping me figure out how to”--Minerva quickly looked around to make sure no colleagues or students could hear her, and then whispered in a conspiratorial tone--“prevent the Headmaster from appearing even more eccentric than usual when it comes to fashion is no small task.”

Lily smiled. She could not think of a reply that would not seem disrespectful of the Headmaster, and while his long-time Deputy could poke fun at him, as a student she could not.

“One question. Just to give me an idea of what sort of places to recommend as far as, well, price and so on. There is such a range in the muggle world, more than in ours. When you shop for your wizarding things, where do you go?”

“Cost isn’t really a huge concern, Miss Evans. It’s not like either the Headmaster or I go broke buying our teaching robes after so many years here—we each have quite a few Galleons to spare in our clothing budgets, I’m sure. Though I imagine he tends to spend rather more than I do—some of his robes look to be hand-tailored, don’t you think? I’d guess he might go to Gladrags’ boutiques occasionally; personally I find Madame Malkin’s off-the-rack robes quite adequate.”

Minerva had to be careful not to betray just how familiar she was with the details of Albus’ wardrobe and budget. All his robes were indeed custom-made and fitted by Gladrags’ best designers and were of quite expensive fabrics. He spent quite a bit of money to look as eccentric as he did. But then, he had no shortage of money, and his tall, lean build enabled him to wear things that few other wizards could even attempt. In another life he might have modeled for fashion magazines himself.

“I’d hope we could look like, well, prosperous academics from a rather elite institution--tasteful, confident, but tending more to the classic than the, what’s the term, ‘haught couture’? We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves—well, at least no more than usual.” Minerva smiled, unable to imagine her husband not drawing attention to himself in one way or another.

“All right. Friday just after dinner, then, Professor. I’ll bring some magazines, and some names and addresses of shops. I look forward to it.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Evans. Now go enjoy this wonderful afternoon. I think I see Potter waiting for you out there in the courtyard.”

[esoterica1693]

Her Head of House gestured Lily to a seat on the sofa in her private quarters adjoining Gryffindor Tower, and she set her collection of magazines and catalogues onto the cushion next to her. A wave of Minerva’s wand brought two delicate globes of dark chocolate mousse, two large wine glasses and a bottle of tawny port to the coffee table in front of them.

“As you are of age, Miss Evans, and this is a rather unusual favour I’ve asked of you, may I offer you something other than pumpkin juice?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Tonight is the beginning of the first break I’ve had in quite a while, and it’s been a rather difficult term, so I must confess I’m feeling a bit indulgent,” Minerva explained as she filled their wine glasses.

Albus, who was much improved, was away at the quarterly all-Wizengamot meeting, and would not be back until late; and she had informed the staff that both of them were on break for 16 days effective that evening. She could truly relax, for the first time in what felt like forever.

For months she had watched over Albus, first as he spiralled down into chaos and then as she helped him return to himself. She had also done most of the running of the School, as he had been much more incapacitated than he had realized, though it had been important to make it appear that he was still in control. He had finally begun to take up much of the load again in the past week or so, but she was still exhausted.

“I promise I won’t give away your secret, Professor—no will know our stern Scottish Head of House actually once ate a sweet other than ginger newts, or drank something stronger than gilly water. To your trip!” Lily lifted her glass as in a toast.

“To my trip!” Minerva laughed. “I once drank something stronger than gilly water? I guess my family’s line of business is not widely known among the student body.”

“No. What is it?”

“Have you heard of McGonagall Distillery? Makers of the finest firewhisky since 1473?”

“Really? That’s in your family?”

“Really. Not just ‘in my family.’ I am the sole owner—I inherited it from my father. I’m surprised the student gossip mill hasn’t picked up on that long ago.”

“Sometimes there are jokes about the coincidence of your having the same name, but no, I don’t think it’s known that you’re actually the same McGonagall as the label. Wow! Of course, most Hogwarts students have rather coarse taste in firewhisky, especially since most of the whisky we, I mean some, students drink is procured, shall we say, 'creatively'? I doubt any of my classmates has ever bought a bottle of McGonagall’s, and few have even tasted it. Maybe Sirius or James at some posh family function.”

“Ah. Well, I actually don’t sample the McGonagall wares too often myself, either, but it is safe to say that I do very occasionally drink something stronger than gilly water! I can see that my reputation is even more severe than I’d realized.”

“I’d say you’re thought of as very serious, rather than severe, Professor. At least most of the time, and once students get to know you a bit, after first year. By fifth year or so, I’d say the adjectives have mellowed to ‘consistent,’ ‘utterly dedicated,’ and ‘trusted.’ And this mousse is delicious.”

“The house-elves did do a nice job, didn’t they. Anyway, yes, the wardrobe you’re going to advise me on will be paid for with McGonagall whisky money. So I’m not limited entirely to the budget spinster teacher lines.”

“Don’t worry—nothing in these would qualify as ‘budget spinster.’ ” Lily picked up some of the catalogues and flipped them open to the pages she had marked. “First thing, Professor….how do you feel about wearing trousers?”

Trousers? Trousers?! Minerva hefted her port and took a generous swallow. This foray into muggle attire was going to be even more difficult than she’d anticipated.

Minerva listened closely as Lily explained and illustrated the range of muggle fashions. An hour later they had planned the basics of her wardrobe, were considering the problem of Albus’ attire, and were on their second bottle of port. Minerva, remembering that as young girls she and her friends had entertained themselves on long Depression winter afternoons by playing with paper dolls, had transfigured some parchment into small figures of herself and Albus. The coffee table was now littered with outfits cut from the catalogues. They had managed to put together a collection of clothes for Minerva which was, by the standards of the leading fashions of the day, very understated, though to someone used to wearing long black teaching robes over dark green underrobes it all looked rather ridiculous.

“Professor, this is actually really a good time for the Headmaster to have to pass as a muggle. He can wear loud clashing colours and weird fabrics and be in style, for once in his life!” Lily giggled, her customary deference erased by the third glass of port.

“And you won’t have to be embarrassed to be seen with him, or worried about wizarding secrecy, even if he puts an outfit together all wrong. No one will really notice.”

Lily waved her wand at her latest cut-outs to shrink them onto the Albus-doll.

“But, since you’ve said you want to be a bit conservative, you don’t want to let him near the casual leisure-wear department. Or else....” Lily giggled again and danced the doll across the table towards Minerva, who looked aghast. The doll was bedecked in a tight pink shiny polyester shirt and bright orange bell-bottomed trousers.

“No, I can see that. Though Albus would absolutely love it.”

“Which is why you don’t want to let him near it! Or this.” Lily waved her wand again, and the polyester shirt was replaced by a bright tie-dyed t-shirt with a peace symbol and love beads. A bit more 1960s than current, but she couldn’t resist the image.

She momentarily pondered putting a joint in his fingers, but figured the reference would probably go over McGonagall’s head. If by some chance it didn’t, it would cross some line—stating the obvious truth that the Headmaster had outlandish taste in clothes was one thing, but depicting him as using illegal drugs was quite another. He was over 90 years old, after all—not exactly a candidate for the drug culture. Though the idea of a stoned Albus Dumbledore was rather amusing, Lily thought, smiling to herself. She determinedly re-focused her thoughts on the topic at hand.

“Even slightly dressier sportswear could be difficult…” Another wave of her wand replaced the polyester shirt with a garishly-plaid sports jacket.

“Ye gods. Is there nothing that wouldn’t serve as its own lumos in the dark? I thought I liked plaids as much as anyone, but that…”

“Well, you won’t be going out dancing, so at least you’ll avoid this.” Lily next dressed the Albus-doll in a disco-style pants outfit.

“Oh, Merlin. Thank heavens Albus gave up his dancing societies when the war broke out!”

“The Headmaster dances?!”

“Oh, yes. Very well, too. We haven’t had any balls at Hogwarts since you’ve been here, but he is quite good, or at least he was the last time I saw him on a dance floor some years ago. Quite good. But you’re right, we won’t be going dancing.”

Minerva actually hoped they might, if they could find something more traditional than this hideous disco style Lily had told her about, but she couldn’t say that to someone who knew them only as Hogwarts Head and Deputy.

“No, no dancing, so let’s figure out what he might wear to see museums, which we will be doing!”

“I’d recommend some flared trousers in khaki and then steering him to some of these short-sleeved cotton sport shirts, like this. The colours are loud but it’s about as conservative a look as you can hope for in casual wear.

Minerva stood the Albus-doll in its green, yellow and pink polo shirt next to the Minerva-doll with its floral print top, and grimaced. “The Head and Deputy Head of Hogwarts on a working holiday—what, oh what, would the Governors think?” She giggled. It seemed to be contagious.

Lily next chose some of the more subdued men’s fashions and reassured Minerva that Albus wouldn’t really have to glow in the dark, so long as she was careful which shops he went in.

“One of these unstructured suits would be nice, but they’re more for the office, not sightseeing. But maybe for dinner in a nicer restaurant. Remember, these magazines show the most fashion-forward styles. That’s not the same as what average people really wear. Here.” She gave Minerva the list of what stores in London sold which type of fashion, and her recommendations of where to go.

“Thank you very much, Lily. This has really been quite helpful. And lots of fun. I haven’t played with paper dolls for over 40 years!” Minerva picked up her cardboard doppelganger and danced it across the table.

“It has been fun. And, if I may say so, it’s been nice to see the definitely-not-severe Professor McGonagall. And I’d be glad to help you tomorrow or Sunday if you need to adjust the fit on your purchases a bit. Since you don’t have time to have them tailored at the shops. The Headmaster will have to do his own, though.”

Lily looked at her half-empty wine glass—was it her fourth?--and pondered draining it before she left, but decided against it. Even a clearly tipsy McGonagall was still her Head of House, and she was still a student, and Head Girl. She formed her words carefully. “And thank you for the dessert. And the wine. It was lovely.”

“You’re most welcome, Lily. Thank you for helping me celebrate the beginning of my break. I needed this, more than I knew. It has been a very hard term for all of us, in many ways. It was good to be a bit silly. And you can finish that glass. Neither of us could pass for sober at the moment—I don’t think another glass will matter. If I’m going to drink to excess with a student, we might as well do it right.” Minerva topped off Lily’s glass and then emptied the bottle into her own. “Cheers!”

A short while later Minerva heaved herself to her feet, walked carefully to the portrait hole, and peeked into the Common Room, which she was relieved to find empty. The reality that she had just gotten a student thoroughly intoxicated in her private rooms was beginning to sink in, and she was absolutely disgusted with herself. She had clearly been under even more strain than she’d realized.

“All clear. I do think it best if no one sees you leaving here. We both look rather looped. I do apologize, Miss Evans. I never should have put you in such an awkward, inappropriate situation. I don’t know what got into me. It...”

“Don’t apologize, Professor! I am of age, and it’s not like you go getting drunk with your students weekly! No one will see me—James is still out with Moo--, err, Remus, and Sirius, and I certainly won’t tell anyone. You teachers have obviously been dealing with a lot of stuff with the war lately--you needed to relax. And besides, it was fun. Really.”

Lily walked somewhat unsteadily across the room, and then gave her professor a strong, if rather lopsided hug. “And I know you’ll have a great time at your conference, and in Florence.”

“I hope so.” Minerva stepped back, reflecting on how shocked Lily would be if she knew the original impetus for her and Albus’ trip. Thinking of Albus and potions, medicinal and otherwise, reminded her of something. “Oh, wait, Miss Evans, will you need some hangover potion for the morning?”

“No. I’ve got plenty in the dormitory. Though I don’t suppose the Head Girl should admit that to her Head of House, should she? Oops.” Lily giggled.

Minerva turned her towards the portrait hole and helped her through, cracking her own shin sharply in the process and muttering swear words as she limped across the Common Room behind her student. She would listen from the bottom of the spiral stairs and make sure Lily got up to her dormitory safely.

Halfway up the stairs, Lily called back down to Minerva. “You know, Professor, even if I did tell somebody about this, I don’t think they’d believe it, anyway. Not about ginger newts and gilly water McGonagall.”

“I wouldn’t believe it either. Good night, Miss Evans. Go on to bed.”

“Good night, Professor.”

[dianahawthorne]

haha - hilarious! I loved the paper doll Albus-and-Minerva - and the fashions! Great job, as always! Please update soon!

[mmadcrazyfan]

love it love it love it\

haha "gilly water and ginger newts mcgonagall!"

that was amazing

[stefdarlin]

I must say I love your fic. It is very well written and I look forward to more. As it is, I stayed up incredibly late to read it all and had to come back to review because I simply couldn't see to write one. lol

Well done!

[dmf1984]

I am so very glad you mentioned this fic of yours to me. Maybe we can get this one back on page one for more of the folks to find!

Each chapter is really well written, and I have to second stefdarlin and say that I very nearly stayed up all night reading it. Anyway, my good sense took over and reminded me that I "can come back later, dumba**".

I do not have military training, but I know plenty of folks who do (here in NoFla) and really appreciated what you put into the idea of Aurors having such intensive training as it is required for their jobs. And Minerva as a full-bird colonel? Cool!

The back stories of characters such as Alastor Moody have a big place in my fan-fic heart; he's one of my favorites, underutilized of course, but SO MUCH potential (plus I'm mostly Scottish by ancestry so I'm a bit biased in his favor). Moody's Maxim? I actually know people like that and they're good friends of mine

The origin of Albus' left knee scar is great (not because I'm glad he was injured, mind); JKR never re-visited that (did she?) and it's funny since I've also been a passenger on the London Underground and had to figure out those darn maps for myself.

I agree with you that sometimes less is better as far as "lemon scenes". That cut-away, so popular in Victorian era films, etc. leaves much more to the reader/viewer's imagination, and *horrors*, actually makes on think actively about what they are reading/seeing!

I'm about halfway through, but wanted to post something as I promised regarding "Love and Wisdom".

Hope you are feeling better 'cos holiday illnesses really suck; I had the flu for Thanksgiving last year, darnit.

Cheers for now,
Di