Set between Phoenix & Half Blood Prince at Grimmauld Place; who takes over when there's shocking news about Dumbledore's demise? Looks at the different roles Minerva takes on in her position. ADMM mostly but some Hermione/Minerva too. Apologies for Moody being the focus of the jokes :-)
AN: I own nothnig and make no money from this - just having fun.
Second-in-command
Peeking around the corner of the heavy drapes Minerva spied into the street below; the pavement was damp from a light summer rain and shone eerily under the dusky lamp light.
She dropped the corner of the curtain back down, blowing at the dust which flew from it. Really, she would have thought Sirius would have had the house fully cleaned by now. After all, he'd known for weeks that Dumbledore intended to use Grimmauld Place as their Headquarters.
She turned back into the large attic room; it was terribly warm up here, 'close' is what her Grandmother would have said. Still, there was an old four-poster bed that Molly had made up freshly for her and it was quiet up here, and private. And privacy was the thing she valued above all else. Yawning she began to change, removing her outer robe and charming it to hang in the old wardrobe – she dearly hoped there wasn't something taking refuge in there.
She'd heard the great clock in the hall downstairs strike eleven some time ago and had debated going back down to find out if there was any news. But then if there was she would have heard about it. Better to get to bed, sleep while she could. It seemed she'd done nothing but rush about since getting out of hospital, and her hip wasn't thanking her for it. Hence the decision to stay here for the night rather than travel back to her country cottage, or go on to Hogwarts. Added to that, she'd hoped she might be able to snatch a few minutes with Albus, they hadn't been alone in many, many weeks.
Sitting stiffly on the side of the bed she bent to untie her boot laces. It really was rather unfortunate that her 'accident', as she had taken to referring to it as, had occurred prior to the Order really kicking into action. Much of the time she felt useless, despite delivering vital messages she'd seen little in the way of real action. Tomorrow she was returning to Hogwarts, at Albus' request, he maintained she needed to take things easy for a few weeks before term began. She stuck to the story that she needed to complete the bureaucracy of it all before term began.
Kicking free her boots she took a minute to massage her toes before rolling back her shoulders and groaning, she never realised how tired she was until the evening ritual of getting ready for bed began. Albus upheld it was because she never knew when to stop; she'd work tirelessly until the second it was time for bed and then collapse. It was one of the things he'd spent a lifetime trying to alter, with little success.
Gripping hold of one of the bed posts she pulled herself up, giving her head a second to clear, she was still slightly light-headed at times, yet another by-product of the attack. She still had dreams where she'd had time to react and fought back. Her hands curled into tight fists just at the thought of it, she never had been able to accept defeat, if ever she'd lost a duelling match at school she immediately demanded a rematch until she bettered her opponent.
She smiled as she thought on this, dreaming up revenge tactics was just as pleasurable though and she contented herself with these notions for a while. She slipped the chain she wore from around her neck and laid it on the small table by the bed. Albus had given it to her only last Christmas and for some reason she found herself reluctant to go a day without wearing it now.
She muttered a brief incantation and the buttons at the back of her dress slid open, from neck to the base of her spine. She slipped her arms out, the dress pooling around her waist, and once again inspected the scars on her chest. They'd faded dramatically since Albus had applied Fawkes' tears, but still, one angry red blemish remained over her left breast, like somebody had sliced at it with a knife. She ran her finger over the top of it, down until it disappeared beneath the material of her bra.
Her heart almost stopped when the bedroom door was hastily pushed open and a sodden, hunched figure stumbled in. Her reactions were legendary and she had already raised her wand and rid her intruder of his before she got a look at him.
"Alastor!" She exclaimed, lowering her wand and instead covering her chest with her arms. "What the hell? How did you get in here?"
"Minerva, I erm..." he glanced away, searching the floor for his lost wand, damn she was fast. "Sorry to er, intrude. Dumbledore..."
"What?" She was suddenly unconcerned with the fact the Auror had seen her bare upper body. "Where is he?"
"Not back..." his voice trailed off.
"He went with you, you were meant to be with him, the other Aurors..."
"Back, we're all back. We lost him."
"Lost him!" She roared, "For Merlin's sake man, turn around!"
He did as she asked and she slid her arms back into the dress. "How can you lose him Alastor? Where? I don't believe this; you all told me it was a straightforward matter."
Alastor Moody was no pushover, and certainly never labelled as easily shaken, but lord Minerva McGonagall's wrath was legendary.
"We were just going over St. James' Park when..."
"You travelled by broom! Albus' is rubbish on a broom; I've always told him that."
Alastor couldn't help but sheepishly agree. "Yes, we did say."
"I don't believe this, we need to get out there, start looking." She scooped the necklace up and placed it back around her neck.
"We have been looking, it's why we're so late, two hours – "
"Two hours!" She cut him off with a horrified realisation, the severity of the situation suddenly becoming very apparent. She sank back down onto the bed, startled to find her hands shaking. "Two hours," she said more softly, "Oh God, Oh God no..." her voice faded away as she covered her face with her hands. This couldn't be happening, not now, not now, please god.
"What do we do?" She finally said, trying to regain some sort of composure. Of course Alastor knew they were married, one of the few, and of course he'd grant her mourning time but really she didn't want to crumble now. Dumbledore needed her to be the strength.
Alastor cleared his throat, watching her internal battle was tough, he gripped hold of one of the bed posts, "I'd say we start making plans. If he's dead," he paused, Minerva sucking in a tight breath.
"You think he is?"
He shrugged, reluctant to commit either way. "We found no body, no trace of him."
She was fussing with the necklace, twirling it impatiently between her fingers. "I should have been there, I should have... I wanted to come along; he refused, so bloody stubborn."
Moody couldn't help the slight tug of a smirk at that, stubborn was usually applied to her never Dumbledore. "He didn't want you there Minerva, we know that, we both know why."
"But I should have, I could have helped, at least been there when it..." She closed her eyes, forcing herself to move past the immediate pain. It helped no one if she fell apart now – but she hadn't even been able to say all the things... all the things she'd been trying to say for a lifetime. It was never enough.
Moody pressed on, he wasn't good with sensitive issues. And in the past few minutes he'd barged into McGonagall's bedroom and seen her, albeit briefly, without a top on and delivered the news her husband was most likely dead. It hardly came more sensitive. "If they had him we'd know by now."
She suddenly felt like vomiting, if they had him – then what the hell would Tom be doing to him? It was an unbearable thought and for the first time in the last ten minutes she hoped if that was the case he was dead. Better than the alternative.
"Is Snape here?" She finally said, summoning some clout to her voice.
"They're all here, in the kitchen."
"Alright," she rose, pulling herself up to her full height, backbone rigid. "Then I'll come down, chair the meeting."
He nodded, curtly; it was her decision to make now. Dumbledore had always made it clear she was second-in-command. For no other reason than after him she was the most powerful.
Strangely, despite the number of bodies around the kitchen table, it was quiet. The odd rustling of robes, feet shuffling, Lupin was drumming his fingers on the table and Molly was brewing tea. Tea – at a time like this – Minerva thought bitterly, your husband is still here. She took it back instantly; she'd never been a bitchy woman, no need to start now.
It was Molly's eye she caught as she preceded Moody into the kitchen, he closed and secured the door after them and the long room suddenly felt very oppressive to her. She was glad she hadn't put her green cloak back on before coming down. Black seemed quite fitting for the moment anyhow.
"Miner..." That soft pity in Molly's voice, the empathy in her red-rimmed eyes.
She held her hand up, "Don't Molly, if you do I'll... I wonder if you might pour us all something a little stronger." She said, her voice altering again.
Sinking into the chair left vacant at the head of the table, his chair, she downed the whisky in one. It wasn't the best she'd ever had but it burned her throat all the way down to her heart.
She folded her hands together to hide the slight tremble present, aware of many sets of eyes upon her, no time to let any weaknesses through.
"I know we're all pretty shocked by the events, but Albus always had planned for this occurrence – as he did for most. And so, we have to put our back-up-plan into action. If Voldemort has Albus," she swallowed awkwardly, aware of a loud snuffle down the end of the table. "Then we have to assume he will soon know our secrets. We have to clear this house immediately, get the children to safety will be the first priority. I'd say Hogwarts for now, simply because I will alter all security as soon as we've completed here. Yet, Severus, I'd be willing to bet if they do have him we'd know?"
Snape nodded, his dark hair covering his face, in time he looked up at her, exhausted, worried. "Yes, we'd know."
"So, by that estimation, we have to assume that he's..."
She didn't finish the sentence but was cut off again by a loud gulp and glanced down the table to see tears rolling down Tonks' face.
She looked away, to her folded hands, where her nails were pinching her own skin in a bid to keep a check on her emotions. It was a trick she'd learnt as a child. She continued staring at the reddening patches as she spoke. "Nymphadora, I know you're upset but kindly contain your emotions or leave the room." She looked up, Tonks' horrified face staring back. Her voice softened, "Because if you don't my dear then I'm afraid I won't be able to."
Lupin shoved a handkerchief into the young girl's hands and she hastily rubbed at her face.
"Now, it seems the best course of action would be for Alastor to take the head of the Order. I know Albus always had me there but in light of my recent injuries, and the fact I'm going to be... term begins in three weeks and I'll need to be at Hogwarts, we have pressure from the ministry and must keep a strong hold on the school."
"Very wise course of action my dear."
They all turned, startled and dazed, at the sound of Albus Dumbledore's soft voice.
However she remained in her seat she'd never know. Tonks was the first up, rushing him with a hug. Then Alastor, his wand out, vigilant as ever, testing.
"Where did we spend New Year, 1964?"
"Don't be silly of course it's him." Tonks said.
"A dirty old bar in Paris, you were after the barmaid, a Madam Flonte, if I remember correctly."
Minerva smirked at the memory, she was there that night too, half-carrying Albus home after an impromptu drinking contest with Alastor. She unfolded her hands, slid them under the table and squeezed her knees to stop herself from crying in relief. He was alive. His face was scratched and beneath his right eye bleeding, the midnight robes he wore were torn down the middle, and he was a minus a hat, but he was alive.
"During the attack," he was talking she realised as he was helped into a chair on her left side. "Lost my balance on that stupid old broom you leant me Sirius, thanks for that." He laughed, so like him to see it as amusing.
"You silly old fool!" It was the first thing she'd said to him, sharp and cutting, accusing. Easier than falling apart. One of her hands returned to the table top, her voice a little shaky when she spoke again. "You should never fly, you're useless at it."
"Terrible balance you see." He explained to the rest of the room, witches and wizards milling about in shocked relief. "Why I'm always in awe of the Quidditch teams." He covered her still trembling hand with his own and very gently squeezed. Just for a second. Then his touch was gone and she was left with an odd sinking feeling inside.
She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when there was a gentle tap on the door and he came in. She spat into the sink as he perched on the side of the bathtub, which looked like it had seen better days.
"Well, there's a novel experience," she said before rinsing her mouth out. "Just when I think you can't surprise me anymore."
"I am very sorry; obviously I didn't set out to worry you."
His voice was gentle, calm, and she felt a slight pang of guilt at feeling angry towards him.
"You fell off your broom," she muttered, rubbing her mouth on a towel. "You fell off your bloody broom Albus and we all fall apart at the thought of you being..." She trailed off, eyes closing momentarily.
She sighed heavily, why did he always maintain a stoic calm at moments like this? How did he manage to never argue back? "I'm not sure how I appeared to them." She said suddenly, unpinning her hair, "Not an emotional wreck."
"Alastor said you coped admirably."
"Hmm, he saw me without my dress on." She replied deadpan, brushing her hair now.
He chuckled, "Yes, he did mention that too, meant to apologise. I always thought he had a soft spot for you. If only you'd known, you could have made a different choice."
She smiled, despite her uncertainties, "Don't be ridiculous, his head only just about reaches my chest."
"Perfect height for him then."
They laughed together now, Minerva moving closer to him, her hands finding their resting place on his shoulders, his on her waist.
"It would never work," she finally said. "I have a fondness for beards as we both know."
"And I am forever grateful for that," he slid one hand up into the ends of her hair, tangling his fingertips in it. "Bit of a shock..." he said gently, serious now.
She nodded, "Somehow, I always thought that when it happened, we'd be together."
His brow furrowed, "You know I wouldn't want that, I don't fear dying Minerva."
"No, you fear little. A shortage of lemon drops perhaps." She dismissed the moment, pulling out of his embrace and turning towards the mirror to plait her hair. "It was just a shock, and I..." she swallowed, "It hurt, and I had to get through that and somehow take control. Being your deputy isn't easy."
He stepped behind her, hands on her shoulders, looking over her head and into the mirror. "Being anything to me isn't easy, we both know that." He gently rubbed her shoulders. "I'm glad you're here tonight."
"So am I, I suppose." She turned around abruptly, her nose inches from his. "You didn't set this up did you, some sort of test?"
He smiled, "I'm flattered you think me so devious my dear."
She shook her head, "Don't twist it round, I still remember you deliberately flooding my classroom in my first year of teaching to see how I'd handle it."
"With Peeves around you can't predict what will happen." He kissed her nose, "I have to go back down and talk with Alastor and Kingsley. Will you go to bed?"
"Yes, unless you need me down there."
"No that's fine, you need to rest, how are you feeling?"
She shrugged, collecting her things together.
"Minerva," he warned, "how's the hip?"
"Still sore," she admitted grudgingly. She turned back to him, her vanity bag clasped in her hands. "I was hoping my husband would help loosen it up for me a little. But he's always so preoccupied."
"He's a damn fool," he said gruffly, pulling her close to his chest and kissing her firmly. "I'll rush the meeting."
It didn't matter anyhow, she couldn't sleep. She kept replaying the moment Alastor had stormed into the room carrying news of Dumbledore's demise. A thousand different ways she conjured up her response; stoic professionalism, a sea of tears, collapsing in a heap, heading out for mindless revenge. The only sure thing was that one day it would be true, she'd always known that of course but right at the moment it seemed undeniably closer.
When the door creaked open sometime later she turned onto her back glancing across the dark room to him. There was a candle flickering on his side of the bed and she watched as he undressed in the shadows.
"Everything okay?" She asked gently.
"Yes, the two of them have headed back out; I think I'm safe to have a full night's sleep and a proper breakfast." He admitted climbing in beside her, socks still on. "Creaky bed," he said as the springs groaned at his body hitting the mattress.
"It's old; you know sometimes you creak too."
"Don't I know it," he snuggled up behind her, kissing her neck. "Mmm, lovely soft Minerva." His eyes were closed, body pressing into hers, warm and inviting.
"You will take care won't you Albus, I don't know what you've been up to lately and I know better than to press you on it. But you look increasingly tired and haggard."
"Sexy pillow talk my dear."
"Don't make jokes, you aren't exactly..." she sighed.
"Young and fit anymore?" He supplied with a chuckle. "I can still ride a broom with the best of them."
She couldn't help but laugh at that and turned in his arms, laying on her back and looking up at his weathered face.
"I've missed you," she admitted, a rare softness creeping into her voice.
"I've missed you too," he kissed her forehead, "Missed your warm body in my bed and your wise words keeping me balanced."
"I can guess which you missed more." She tugged on his beard, her left foot tickling down his shin, toes wiggling against his skin. "Albus!" She exclaimed, "take your socks off."
"You love it," he teased, tickling her waist.
"I do not."
"You strip, I'll strip?" He offered and she smiled wryly.
"Sly old dog," but she sat up and he watched as she pulled the nightdress over her head and tossed it across the room.
"Can see why Moody's smitten," he chuckled as she leant over him.
"I bet he doesn't wear his socks to bed neither."
"Sock."
"Oh god..."
For a second they both frowned at the image before collapsing into fits of laughter together, her body across his, chests vibrating at the hilarity of the image.
"You're so mean Minerva McGonagall."
"Oh, blame me."
He traced his fingers across her mouth, "Always," and she leant down and kissed him, properly this time, slowly, deeply, pouring every word she found so hard to say into the kiss. Every proclamation of her deep love and devotion.
"Mmm again," he mumbled, eyes closed, body seemingly humming with pleasure.
"Don't do that to me again," she whispered, almost viciously, by his ear, and he knew of what she meant.
He was surprised when she suddenly disappeared beneath the sheets, her head heading south. He couldn't help but feel an intense swoop of not only desire, but pride, and he even folded his arms up beneath his head relaxing at her touch.
"Minerva," he asked a few seconds later, "what are you doing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Came her muffled reply, "divulging you of these awful socks."
He chuckled; lifting the bed sheets back and watching as she indeed took them off and threw them aside. When she looked up at him again it was with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "Why," she started to crawl back up the bed, her head moving ever close to his growing erection. "What did you think I was doing?"
"Loosening your hip," he replied with utter conviction.
She frowned, "Would take rather more than that dear," she said but tugged on the drawstring of his pyjama bottoms. "But I'm willing to give it a try."
"Mind the creaky bed strings," he mumbled, quickly losing coherent thought.
Minerva woke with a heavy thud, as if she'd dropped from a height and landed right there in the bed. For a few seconds she remained disorientated, her head swimming, throat dry. And then gradually she became aware that her head was in fact on a pillow, not a hard floor, there was a warm weight across her waist that was Albus' arm and the room was filled with his snores – which she'd long since gotten used to.
She twisted a little in his embrace, her eyes quickly becoming accustomed to the darkness. He was sleeping soundly, no need to wake him. It was just a dream.
Slipping out of the bed she reached for her nightdress and robe, she couldn't find her slippers in the dark but tripped over Albus' by the door and instead put them on before heading out into the hall.
The light there was better, faint but better, and the entire house seemed drowsy with sleep. After visiting the bathroom she tiptoed downstairs, years of Animagus training making her old-hand at stealth abilities. It had been one of her best skills as an Auror.
The kitchen light was on but the room empty, of which she was glad, and she opened the fridge door taking out a jug of red liquid. It smelt like raspberries so she poured a small amount and gave it a taste. Summer berries, home-made, Molly of course.
She was pouring a glass when there was a light shuffling behind her and she turned to face the startled Miss Granger, rubbing her eyes.
"Professor," she said sleepily.
"Miss Granger," Minerva replied, returning to pouring her drink. She felt a slight pang of uneasiness, this wasn't Hogwarts and the circumstances weren't exactly ordinary. "Hermione," she added as an after-thought. "Couldn't you sleep?"
"No, I keep having nightmares about..." she sighed, embarrassed to admit this to the wise Professor, someone she heartily admired.
"What happened at the ministry." Minerva supplied and Hermione nodded. "Would you like some of Molly's juice, it is obviously very good."
"Yes I know, and yes please I would."
When Minerva turned around Hermione had settled herself down at the table and again she felt awkward, she wasn't really one for one-on-one chats about feelings, it was hard enough discussing her own let alone somebody else's. Yet the child obviously wanted, needed, to talk and she couldn't very well simply say goodnight and exit the room leaving her there alone.
Returning the jug to the fridge she took a seat at the other side of the young girl, on the corner, so they weren't physically side by side but not too far apart to appear uncomfortable. Minerva realised the majority of her students, and colleagues for that matter, saw her as cold but really it wasn't a matter of actually being so, more the way she'd been raised, part of her nature. It didn't mean she didn't care.
"So, would you like to tell me about the dreams?" Minerva asked gently, years of handling Albus' very vivid nightmares coming into play.
"Just, some are just as things happened, replaying it. Other times I'm fighting with the Death eaters, with Bellatrix or, sometimes I see them dead."
"The death eaters?"
She shook her head, "Ron. I see Ron dead."
Minerva sucked in a tight breath; she'd had those dreams too, quite early on in her marriage, a thousand different ways she'd seen Dumbledore die. Now it was different, it wouldn't be right to say she'd grown used to the idea of death but she was certainly more prepared for it, more prepared for losing the people she loved. She'd had practice.
"My dear, they're unconscious fears playing out."
"I know." Hermione took a gulp of her drink, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "His eyes are open and he's staring at me and there's this thick stuff dribbling from his mouth, I think it's blood but it's black."
She remembered that, dark gloopy blood; she'd seen it on the battlefield, young witches and wizards in that very position.
Without thinking she covered Hermione's small hand with her own, resisting the urge to pat and say 'there, there'. This girl was hardly a child anymore.
"Do you think it means something?" Hermione asked, caught off guard a little by the physicality of the moment. She couldn't remember once in the past five years when McGonagall had touched her, not even a squeeze to the shoulder to say well done on completing a spell.
"Your fears, of course, you fear losing Ron. I'm sceptical to read into dreams Hermione."
The young girl smiled, "Yeah, Flitwick said you've never had much time for divination."
A smirk pulled at Minerva's lips, but she drew them into a tight line. "Did he now? And that's Professor Flitwick to you."
"Sorry."
Minerva smiled and did indeed pat the girl's hand and Hermione smiled in return, she wasn't being chastised.
"Professor, I was wondering, I mean you don't have to talk to me about it or anything, but I haven't seen much of my parents recently and it's hardly the thing to discuss with them," she shook her head, "forget it."
She understood, some things you had to discuss with a woman. "Can't you talk to your friends?" She asked. "I mean, the girls at school."
"I'm, I mean I have tried, but some things, they aren't all private about things."
Minerva nodded, "Yes, I remember well. Go ahead and ask."
"How do you know, you know when... when..."
Minerva feared she was going to ask her about losing her virginity and felt her chest tighten at the thought of discussing that very issue. Surely Molly or even Poppy would be better with this. She thought of her own awkward, clumsy and slightly painful fumblings at eighteen years old and was thankful all over again for the joy she experienced now in her love-making with Albus. Some things did improve with age. And she wouldn't swap her husband for no in-experienced teenage boy.
"Yes?" She croaked, throat tight.
"How do you know when it's love?"
Ah, a slightly safer topic perhaps but no less daunting.
She reflected on it for a moment, how did you know? Could she remember the exact moment she realised she was in love? It hadn't happened that often in life; three times she could think of. That first boy, the last summer of school and the heady feeling of lust and attraction, she thought she was in love. Then James, the muggle, and the mess that came with that. The thought of that still made her guts flip. And then Albus, who of course had always been there through it all, on the sidelines somehow, cheering her on through the other relationships yet always there waiting for her to realise just what they had. And what they had was so much more special than the others, love based on a deep friendship and respect.
"I think, for me personally, love comes from friendship first. You have to be friends to really make it work."
Hermione reflected on this, her eyes dropping to the table and for a while she was silent. Minerva sipped her drink, figuring she'd said the wrong thing.
"I think I love him." Hermione finally said. "And it hurts."
She thought back to the moment she'd realised Miss Granger wasn't a child anymore, floating down the stairs, serene in some ethereal dress to the waiting, outstretched hand of Krum. Albus had whispered in her ear during the banquet about Mr Weasley's strange loss of appetite. Love indeed was painful.
"It can hurt," she said honestly, surprised at her own frankness. "It can be the most painful thing; at times you feel it's tearing you apart." She thought of earlier in the evening, faced with the prospect of never seeing her husband again. "But then, the utter joy and completeness you can find in it replaces that."
She reached to squeeze Hermione's delicate shoulder, "But you are still young and there is plenty of time for love. You're a bright girl; you'll know when it's real."
"Thank you Professor, sometimes it can be quite lonely with two boys as best friends."
Minerva chuckled and nodded her agreement and again they sat in a comfortable silence finishing their drinks.
When the kitchen door opened they both glanced to it, Hermione hidden behind it, Minerva visible from the small gap that had appeared.
"My dear, I woke up to find the bed empty and you gone. Are you still worrying?"
Minerva glared, shaking her head and sighing, would he never learn to check the room first? "No Albus, I was talking."
He pushed the door further open to reveal a rather red-faced Hermione.
"Ah, good evening Miss Granger. I trust you're well." And he retreated again, closing the door softly behind him.
Stupid old man, Minerva thought with a smile.
She glanced at Hermione, holding her gaze for a moment, communicating her thoughts with a look caught between humour and pleading.
"It's alright Professor, I know about lack of privacy." She collected their glasses and got up from the table, "Thanks for the drink."
For a second Minerva watched her rinse the glasses, before pulling her weary body up from her chair. She was already wise, and Minerva was thankful for it.
She stopped by the door, "Goodnight Miss Granger," she said.
"Goodnight Professor," Hermione smiled, noting the brightly coloured slippers on her teacher's feet. She could have sworn Dumbledore was wearing them when he was here last week.
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