Minerva was swimming. Or, rather, she felt as if she was swimming. Her last solid memory had been of the time turner slipping around her neck. And then everything went black, a soft spiral. Around her, a miasma of everything from her past clouded her thoughts and prevented her from focusing too much on anything that might be defined as "reality". Instead, dozens of things seemed to be going on at once. And none of these things seemed to be dominating more than one part of her body.
Her fingers were sweatily and shakily clutching at her wand as she went through her Auror admissions trials. She could feel the intent of each spell and the power of it firing through her fingers. Her knees were firmly locked around her Nimbus Ariel from the final Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match for the House Cup of her seventh year. Each moment of tension and compensation was as real as the day of the match. Minerva's feet were desperately picking their way through the forest floor in remote Germany, fleeing the defenders of Grindelwald. McGonagall's piercing green eyes were struggling to stay open as she poured over notes for her final Transfiguration Mastery exam. The words on the page were there before her, so clearly she could have recited them if her mouth was not otherwise occupied. It seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with her grandmother in her native Scots. The Deputy Headmistress' ears rang with a hundred voices bellowing the Hogwarts School Song. And throughout it all, her sense of smell was distracted by a particular blend of rosemary and lavender from her mother's soap.
If she focused on any one sensation, Minerva found she could shepherd her other senses into cooperation with one particular event for a few moments. But the effort required exceptional concentration, and the exhausted witch found it much more agreeable to simply surrender all attempts at control over her own body. After all, if her body didn't seem particularly excited about settling in one place, who was she to fight it? She drifted like this, overall feeling suspended in no single place, but moving through multiple experiences at once. Because linear time seemed like an absurd notion to Minerva, given that her own body couldn't make up its mind about linear time, she had no idea how long she stayed that way. Once the panic and attempts at control were brushed aside, the witch found that how long something had been going on really didn't matter.
Eventually, Minerva began to involuntarily hone her focus on her stomach. She began to notice that each memory associated with the middle of her body was one of pain. First she was experiencing the hunger pangs of being on the front lines as an Auror trainee. Then she was wretching uncontrollably during a brief bout of the flu last February. But now, the experience pulling her body into one time was an endless procession of searing cramps. The first thing to join in was her voice. The cramps forced screams of pain from her throat. The rest of the Transfiguration professor's body was soon drenched in sweat. Her eyes were squeezed shut with the pain. It felt as if the middle of her body was being torn in half. Then, at the same moment, the pain subsided to a quiet throb, McGonagall could feel that she was in a bed, and she smelled sweat and a hint of blood. A shrill cry pierced her revelations, and Minerva's eyes flew open.
She was in a bed at St. Mungo's. Albus was there, along with two healers and a mediwitch she did not recognize. One of healers and the mediwitch were hurrying away with the crying bundle. The other healer was tending to her. Albus was near by looking incredibly worried about her.
"Albus? What's wrong?" Suddenly everything clicked. She realized what was going on, because this was her life! Of course it was! She had been pregnant with twin girls! She had gone into labor two weeks early. No wonder the poor man was worried. "I'm fine, my love!" She reached her left hand out to clasp his hand in both of hers. The emerald-encrusted band that shone on her ring finger rubbed comfortingly on the clauses there.
Albus glanced at the healer, who smiled and nodded. Tears tumbled down Dumbledore's face, funneled by his smile to drop onto her hands. "You gave us quite a start, my darling. For a moment, we thought you had left us!"
And then Minerva was flooded with a second tsunami of memory, so powerful, her consciousness swam again, if briefly. She remembered the loneliness, a dangerous journey to end that loneliness and finally, floating in utter timelessness. Minerva opened her eyes, and found she was able to push the darkness away. The other healer and the mediwitch were approaching, each holding a pink-wrapped bundle. One was handed to Albus, and as Minerva stretched out her trembling hands to receive her own bundle, tears of her own poured uncontrollably down her face.
"Oh, Merlin!" Albus murmured through tears of his own. "They are the most wonderful little ones I've ever seen!"
Minerva could not speak, so overwhelmed was she by the utter ecstasy of the moment. But she gazed into the blue eyes of her daughter. Both girls had a dusting of bright red fuzz, also sharing their father's azure gaze. Their eyes, however were in the shape of their mother.
"You have two perfectly healthy, beautiful young daughters, Mr. and Mrs. Dumbledore." The healer beamed. "Congratulations!"
"Thank you!" Minerva whispered. The comment was not entirely directed at the healer, but at whatever power directed where she had "landed" after her time floating. Never had Minerva been flooded with such profound joy.
The day finished with a visit from Minerva's parents, both ecstatic that they finally had grandchildren. After their visit, brief as it was, Minerva found herself exhausted. The twins had just eaten and were dozing softly in their bassinets.
Albus leaned down to whisper, "Thank you for everything, my darling wife. Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world. I know, without you, I would not have found the joy and contentment I know tonight." He kissed her forehead.
"I love you." Was all the new mother could manage before falling into a deep sleep.
The next time Minerva opened her eyes, she was in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
/*\/*\/*\
Albus knew what he needed to do, but fear was a powerful deterrent.
And if he was to be entirely honest, Dumbledore would have to admit his motivations were not entirely selfless. His conversations with his older alternate had left questions that could not go unanswered. The Headmaster knew a return to the other universe was inevitable, if only to find the knowledge he required. But the thought of allowing this Dumbledore back into Minerva's life, even for a moment, stoked an uncomfortable jealousy that smoldered in the back of his heart.
Yet, the wizard was now in his study, slipping the unfortunate device around his neck once again.
The other side was just as uncomfortable as he remembered it to be. The air around him felt like a deadly smog to his lungs. The young Headmaster's stomach revolted with each movement. Again, Dumbledore contemplated how much Minerva had risked to be with another version of himself. He wasn't sure if it was the vomiting or the power of that emotion that brought tears to his eyes. But the other Albus was there in a moment, interrupting all such trains of thought, and bringing the matter back to business.
"Why are you here?! Did the potion not work?!" It was clear that this Albus had been fighting against panic in much the same way the younger man had. He barely waited until the mess had been disposed of and his counterpart seated before beginning his interrogation.
"It worked, she will be awake in a matter of minutes." Dumbledore sighed, allowing the settee to take some of the strain from his protesting muscles. "But I came back because I had one question to ask of you, and one favor to offer."
The man across from Dumbledore was completely in control again. He was serene in the knowledge that the woman he loved was safe. "I will try to answer to your satisfaction."
"Who killed your Minerva?" The auburn-haired man restrained himself from throwing too much force behind the question. He was the junior wizard, in this case. And he was sitting in this other wizard's office, even if it was, in a way, his own. It would not do to seem as if he was making demands.
"Ah... I had wondered if you would come to this question," The grey-haired wizard smiled sadly. "I would have done nothing less." Albus sighed heavily, "I realize that our timelines have already irreparably contaminated each other. And I understand that the direction of your future has been altered in a way that cannot be completely understood." He closed his eyes, and passed a large, wrinkled hand over them. "It is only with this knowledge that I feel I am able to tell you the name of this wizard."
"I understand your hesitation. I would..." Dumbledore tried to console the man.
"Would do the same... Yes, I know." Another weak smile resulted from the older Albus. "You have to also know that I blame myself partially for what this man became. I fostered him. I encouraged him to stretch his considerable magical ability. I never considered the horror he would visit upon humanity." The exhausted wizard threw a pitying glance at his younger alternate, "I suspect that, given the similarities in our nature, you have probably aided this wizard yourself, completely unwittingly. Please, do not flog yourself with guilt over your actions toward him. I have wasted far too many hours blaming myself for what I saw as acts of charity at the time, and I cannot bear the thought of another Albus Dumbledore throwing away more agony on this twisted husk of a human."
"I will do my best to follow your instructions." Dumbledore was getting impatient now. He began to feel that his older self was infuriatingly omniscient, and a bit long-winded.
"The man that killed Minerva was a wizard formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, who later styled himself Lord Voldemort." The old wizard nodded as he saw Dumbledore's eyes widen in surprise. "He came to you as a vulnerable boy, and you nurtured him. But unless much has changed in your universe, he is, as we speak, seeking ways to visit terrible destruction upon Muggles and Muggle born wizards. His power is greater than that of Grindelwald, and his perversion is limitless. Never underestimate him."
"I... I had suspected. Riddle always seemed... unsettled. But he killed Minerva?" Dumbledore whispered in shock.
"He killed my Minerva. He may kill her or any number of other people in your universe. Do not let him out of your sight for a moment." Albus finished. He would speak no more on the matter, that much was clear. "Now, what favor do you bring me? Has Minerva left a letter for me?" His eyes sparked a bit as he said the name of his beloved.
"No, better than that." Dumbledore grinned, if a bit painfully. "After some consultation with my closest friend and colleague, we have agreed to let you come to our universe to say a proper goodbye to Minerva. You will have half an hour in our world. I don't think either of our bodies can handle much more than that." He took off the time-turner, and handed it to Albus. "I believe you know the number of turns required to get you to my study? My colleague, Professor Flitwick, will meet you on the other side and take you to Minerva."
Minutes later, Dumbledore was alone in the study again. This time, he couldn't prevent his curiosity from driving him to poke around the pictures and memorabilia on the Headmaster's desk. There were a few trinkets from what he assumed to be family vacations. There was a family portrait of two gangly read-headed boys on either side of Albus and Minerva. But the real treasure came when he opened a draw and found a neatly tartan-wrapped photo album.
At this discovery, Dumbledore stumbled back into the overstuffed wingback chair behind the desk and flipped through the moving pictures. There were smiles everywhere, and so much joy, the Headmaster had never seen his face with such an expression of pure peace and happiness.
When the half hour was up, both Dumbledores had tear-streaked faces.