Chapter 9
She hadn't made it.
Right when Minerva McGonagall had pulled open her door to get going to the little Halloween party down in the Great Hall, another wave of nausea had come washing over her and had her hurrying into the bathroom again to throw up. It occasionally occurred that she ended up retching even after noon, even though not very often. She weakly supported herself by holding on to the edge of the toilet and spit into the water below, doing her best to rid herself from that disgusting, burning feeling in her throat and the taste of acid in her mouth.
She could hear the sound of footsteps in the hallways below and quietly assumed that if she had gotten down, she would have been late for most either way. She easily conjured a beaker of cold water in her hand and lifted it to her lips. She then rinsed her mouth and spit into the toilet, before flushing.
She would have been dumb, hadn't she anticipated that knock to her door, when most of the pupils' footsteps had already died away. Minerva slowly rose to her feet with a lot of effort and made the beaker she had used to rinse her mouth with disappear by one easy flick of her wand, before taking a breath and walking into her chambers. "Come in," she called and was surprised to hear just how weak her voice sounded.
Slowly the door to her quarters cracked open to reveal none other than Albus Dumbledore, as if she couldn't have guessed. "Minerva. You weren't down in the Great Hall tonight. I just wanted to see if you were doing alright."
"Come in," Minerva repeated and gestured to the couch at the fireplace. Dumbledore quietly walked further into the room and shut the door after him, before making his way to the couch Minerva had indicated. He didn't sit until she did.
"You look rather pale," Dumbledore said and furrowed his brow, eyeing her.
Minerva nodded. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't make it. I was… but I'm fine now."
"I'm sorry to say, but you don't look fine," Dumbledore commented, more by intuition than anything else reaching up to feel her forehead like he would do with anyone else he cared for like that. He just sighed with worry before pulling back. "I'm worried about you," he admitted. "I certainly see that you need the time to heal, but you haven't eaten well for months, and you seem to have lost of your appetite even more since the pupils' arrival. Do you maybe feel unsettled with them all over here? If that's the case, then certainly I could have one of the House Elves..."
Minerva sighed, shaking her head already in denial. "That's not it, Albus – well, not everything. Of course I haven't quite… healed of what has occurred, and, and… maybe I never will." At that, Albus just offered her his hand. She gratefully took it. "I still miss him so much it is ridiculous. People say it gets better, but it doesn't. It just gets different, that's all."
Albus lightly squeezed her hand. "Please don't push yourself so hard, Minerva. You should allow yourself some time."
Minerva McGonagall momentarily sniffled, but more than that didn't happen. "I…" she began. "Albus, there's something that I would really like to tell you before I no longer have to do it. I have known for a while…" She quietly allowed her eyes to wander up and connect with his. She could see the lines of confusion upon his forehead. She swallowed, before taking another deep breath and saying, "I'm expecting." Albus Dumbledore remained quiet, as if getting accustomed to the idea of Minerva soon showing evidence of another human being slowly developing inside her – he could imagine her waddling through the corridors of Hogwarts while supporting her belly with one hand, or both. "Please… say something," Minerva whispered, not being able to see through him.
"I'm taken aback," Albus admitted. "I never would have guessed, but it surely makes it easier to get some things. Thank you for sharing the news with me."
Minerva nodded. "I wanted to tell you before I'm showing." Albus nodded, too. A lot of thoughts crossed his mind. She had locked herself up into her quarters most of the time. Of course it didn't take longer than that for Albus to figure when this child could have been conceived. Hadn't she been…? Had she… and Finnley…? "I'm not sure about the father…" Minerva admitted, gazing down. Albus again squeezed her hand. "Poppy's said that there's no way… to figure… who the baby's father might be until I have given birth." Albus nodded. "I… I couldn't get it over my heart to…"
Albus again nodded and pulled her against himself. She immediately let her eyes fall shut feeling the warmth of him, that usually appeared to comfort her by itself. She, however, didn't mind feeling his pats of reassurance either. She shouldn't have anticipated any different from him, yet she had been somewhat afraid for his reaction either way. She should have told him sooner. It might have saved him a lot of worrying. He didn't ask a lot of questions like most would have done, which was fine with her.
"I still miss him so much it is ridiculous. People say it gets better, but it doesn't. It just gets different, that's all." – quoted from Maggie Smith, about Beverley Cross.
