Author's Note/Disclaimer

Thanks to my reviewers! I wrote this chapter on vacation and I also used pencil and paper as
opposed to computer, so I apologize for any stylistic changes this has caused if it sounds even
worse than my other chapters (though I'm not sure that's possible). Anyway, none of this stuff
belongs to me, it's all J.K.'s, and I hope you enjoy it. Btw, the fifth book is awesome, is it
not?!?!?!

It's growing late-- or technically, early, thought Minerva through her sleep-deprived mind.
She hadn't stopped searching through the rubble since their arrival late last night and her
hands were caked with her own dried blood from picking up slivers of glass. Terrel and the
Mediwizards had impressed quickly on the new workers not, under any circumstances, to use magic.
If there were people trapped under the debris and magic was used to lift the chunks of glass,
wood, and stone, it would be all to easy to accidentally catch a person in the cross-fire,
resulting in more serious injuries for the Mediwizards to deal with. "Plus," he had added in an
exasperated voice, "Aithne has taught me through personal experience that the Obliviators don't
appreciate being called away on their off-hours to deal with unnecessary sightings." He looked
as though he wanted to add a few other remarks, but thought better of it and then hurried away
to relate this rule to a group of younger wizards who were using streams of purple sparks to
blast the particularly large chunks into oblivion.

Since Beth, Minerva had found no other survivors. That little girl reminded her of someone,
though she couldn't think whom it might be. Not in looks, but more in essence. The solemn,
controlled little voice asking her so collectedly, "Is Daddy dead?" Not a tear or a frown, just
complete control of emotion. Or maybe shock, she realized. With this thought, worry for the
little girl again flooded through her head. She resolved firmly that as soon as she was allowed
a break from the work, she would find the child again to make sure she was receiving adequate
care.

With this concern bottled, at least for the moment, her brain became fair game for the clouds of
fatigue that had been trying to take over for the past several hours. She stifled a yawn, her
hands still mechanically lifting and moving debris and her eyes searching for a scrap of cloth,
a piece of jewelry, any sign at all that a human figure might lay alive underneath the next
plank or uprooted shrub.

She had seen the remains of so many lives in the past few hours. After all, these piles of
smoldering wood were people's homes that had once been furnished and decorated and lived in.
She had seen charred copies of the daily newspaper, still lying open to the funny pages or
turned to a sports section. A fad at the time was to place a decorated wooden sign with the
family surname above the front door, and numerous still-burning halves of these had turned up,
with the charmingly painted letters peeling and flaking under the heat. She had wiped aside a
few tears for the first of these pitiful grave markers, but her heart had finally managed to
harden itself to the gut-wrenching sights and her tears remained unshed, bottled up for a time
when more privacy could be had. She wished for a moment that she were at Hogwarts, asleep in
her comfortable bed, but immediately she was overcome with guilt and had to sit down on
someone's footstool that had miraculously survived the attack. Looking at the row or those
lost, now just shadowy, dew-covered mounds, she realized how fortunate she was to be alive, fed,
and clothed. These people would never get to sleep in a fluffy, warm bed again-- they would
rest in lonely peace six feet under the ground. She sniffed once, twice, then returned to her
work with a vigor.

* * *

Albus had sincerely hoped Aithne would resume the more cheerful side of her personality.
Although her serious demeanor was perfectly understandable under the circumstances, it would be
nice to have some chatter to take his mind off of the gruesomeness of the work, although their
section to clean up was more of a business district, with only a few night shift workers.
Finally, under his subtle hinting and encouragement, she seized upon the prompting and became
slightly more animated. Conversation flowed with ease as they discussed everything from their
occupations (though this was a bit one-sided, since Aithne's information was still considered
restricted) to the M.O.U.S.E. exams to a topic they were both wildly enthusiastic about-- Muggle
sweets. But after many hours, even this fond subject grew old and the discussion dwindled to a
few moments of awkward silence. Then, with her usual randomness, Aithne spoke.

"You're in love with Minerva, aren't you?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Er... Well..." Bewildered and a little nervous, he took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I
am. But how did you guess?"

"You may be considered the wisest man in the wizarding world, but I am beginning to think you're
as clueless as a first year when it comes to romance." She paused from digging in the debris
to mockingly clasp her hands over her heart and bat her eyelashes rapidly. "It's obvious. You
stare at her when she isn't looking and you call her 'my dear'".

"I call everyone 'dear'."

"You don't call Terrel 'dear'."

"He's an exception."

"Then you can't say that you call everyone 'dear.' You don't call me 'dear', either, by the way."

"Point taken."

"I rest my case." She smirked triumphantly. "What does she say about all this?"

"I... er... haven't told her..."

"WHAT?!"

"There hasn't been a good moment to say anyt-"

"I can't BELIEVE you!"

"-hing and I don't know if she feels the same w-"

"She's OBVIOUSLY in love with you!"

"-ay and--- wait! What did you say?"

"That I can't believe you haven't-"

"No, after that!"

"That Minerva obviously loves you too?"

"Yes! How do you know?"

"The same way I knew you were in love with her. It's obvious, Albus!"

"Not to me..."

Aithne rolled her eyes. "Of course not! You're in love. Don't be a dingbat." She smiled,
then rolled her eyes again and moved towards another mountain of rubble.

Albus blinked. Was he being a dingbat? Surely not. He had been called everything from a barmy
codger to a crackpot old fool, but never, ever a dingbat. But then again, he mused, he hadn't
really loved anybody before and maybe dingbattiness went hand in hand with love, like Oreos with
milk. In school, he'd wrapped himself in books and homework. Later, he did the same with his
job of teaching at Hogwarts. He had always worked on time-consuming projects on the side and
had spent his extra time experimenting with dragon's blood or any number of other dangerous
substances. There had been never been time for a romantic relationship, nor a woman suitable
enough to tempt him--- until Minerva.

He had taught her Transfiguration in school, her most prominent talent on a pristine record of
marks. This age gap, too, worried him; perhaps he was too old for her? Perhaps it would feel
strange to her to be loved by someone nearly twice her age? And what if she loved someone else?

The magnitude of this thought struck him with such great force that he dropped a brick on his
foot. He hadn't thought of this before. For a moment, it felt as though there was a great
writhing snake in his stomach, constricting around his hopes and squeezing them to bits. Then,
fortunately, his logic took over and banish the serpent. Minerva wore no promise rings or
pendants, showed no signs of being in love (though he had already proved himself a poor judge,
according to Aithne), and had never mentioned anyone special during their long chats over chess
games and tea.

His hopes mended themselves.

He finally gave up on worrying about the situation and decided to simply tell Minerva how he
felt. If she did feel the same way, he would be ecstatically happy over the whole thing. If she
didn't feel the same way, he would be horribly embarrassed but would simply go on being friends
with her. Either way, worrying was only wasting the precious energy he could be using to move
rubble. He tossed aside a few more bricks, then realized he had one residing on his foot. He
looked at it quizzically for a moment, then shook it off and continued to work.

* * *

Hermione decided she would never find a cure for her sleeplessness. She had been down to the
kitchens to fetch her own glass of warm milk, refusing assistance from a hoard of sleepy-eyed
house elves in makeshift nightcaps, but had found herself as wide awake as ever. She had
attempted to wade through another chapter from a book she had started previously, but the words
all ran together and for probably the first time in her life she absorbed absolutely nothing.
Hesitantly, she stood from the library table at which she had been trying to read and left.

She entered the halls, searching for McGonagall's office and living quarters in hopes that she,
too, would be awake at this late hour. Unfortunately, she found the doors closed, though lights
were burning inside. She knocked, first softly then loudly. It became obvious that the
professor was neither in her office nor her living quarters. Out of a growing desperation for
someone to talk to besides the other girls in her dorm, she even checked the Transfiguration
classroom and the Headmaster's office. Not only was McGonagall absent from both places, but
Hermione also saw through the Headmaster's open office door that Cornelius Fudge was sitting in
Dumbledore's chair with no sign of Dumbledore anywhere. Her curiosity was growing steadily, but
Hermione knew that even as a prefect the punishment for being caught out of bed would be severe,
never mind that she had been looking for a professor. Allowing her mind to work on the mystery
set before it, she tiptoed back to the Gryffindor dorms and crawled under her covers, thinking
furiously. After a few hours, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The piles of rubble had been mostly cleared away by early morning of that day. Increasing
numbers of wizards had come pouring in to help and under this growing flow the pies were sifted
through into their currently diminished state. With tired, bloodshot eyes, the searchers met in
the center of what used to be Aberfeldy's middle-class housing district. Terrel, who had
somehow become the leader of Albus' and Minerva's group, gave a short 'thank-you-for-coming'
speech, then dismissed them. Albus peered through the disheveled crowd, searching for Minerva
with Aithne's advice ringing in his heart. He vowed to finally spit out those three pesky words
as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But for now, he was just hoping to find Minerva in
the crowd. Finally, two or three people shifted out of the way and he caught a glimpse of her
through the gap. He called her name and she looked back.

"Just a minute; I need to take care of something," she called, looking and sounding very tired.
She set off briskly towards a large tree that had miraculously remained standing through the
horrific attack. Albus slowly followed her. He saw her look around, finally finding a small
girl with a doll dangling from one hand. Minerva spoke to the girl for a moment, then the child
threw her arms around Minerva's neck. He could tell even from the distance at which he was
standing that Minerva was trying desperately not to cry, with her eyes and nose reddened. She
released the child and kissed her on the forehead then, with the child's prompting, placed a
kiss on the forehead of the dolly, too. Giving them both a final wave, she turned and walked
with her head down back to where Albus was standing. He tentatively slipped his arm around her
shoulders, as nervous as a first year. This was the moment of truth.

"Ready to go back to Hogwarts, my dear?" He changed his mind. He wouldn't tell her. Not yet.

"Yes, I think so."

They mounted their broomsticks and kicked off into the fresh morning air.

*****

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