Chapter Fourteen
He was walking down a long, dark corridor.
He thought at first he was in the dungeons at Hogwarts, but that couldn't be right because none of the doors would open to him, and he was Headmaster. Wasn't he? Actually, he wasn't sure. He knew he was searching for something or someone, but what it was, he couldn't quite recall. It was essential, though, that he find it, or him, or her . . . yes, her . . . that felt right. It was a woman he was seeking, then. Or a girl. He wasn't sure which.
He proceeded down the corridor, trying each door both with his hands and his wand, but none would open until he came to the last. This one was old wood and covered with cobwebs. It would not open to his wand, but when he tried the rusty iron handle, it swung inward to reveal a dingy room that felt familiar, although he couldn't quite place it. There was a double bed with a brass frame, covered with a threadbare cotton blanket. There were bedside tables on either side, one bearing an old-looking ceramic lantern with a black candle, half-melted. There was a moth-eaten wool carpet on the dirty wood floor, its pattern indecipherable with wear.
He thought he was alone, but a voice made him turn around.
"Albus?"
It was Minerva. She was dressed as she had been at their wedding—her simple dress of white silk overlaid with lace, with a tartan sash falling from shoulder to hip. Other than her dress, however, she didn't look as he remembered her from their wedding day. Her face, for example. It was as it had been when he had first loved her: open, fresh and unlined with care at eighteen, and her long hair was worn tied back with a green silk ribbon, as it had been when she was a schoolgirl. As he looked, he realised she was clearly several months pregnant.
She gestured for him to lie down with her on the bed, so he did. When he went to take her in his arms, however, he found that she was hard where he remembered softness, and she didn't return his embrace. He lifted his head to look at her and was surprised to find she was merely a doll-Minerva. How had he been so mistaken? He sat up and found the doll had vanished. In its place was a spreading pool of blood.
"Clean up your mess, Albus," came another voice, this one male and gruff.
"Aberforth, I didn't mean to . . ." he tried.
"I'll not have her blood on my bed. You made it, now clean it up, as Mother taught you," said his brother.
He tried to Scourgify the stain, but it remained accusingly crimson on the bedclothes.
He turned to Aberforth: "I can't, I don't know why, but I can't." He was crying now.
"Are ye daft, lad?" came yet another voice. He recognised it as Thorfinn McGonagall's, but the face was still Aberforth's and filled with his brother's habitual contempt. "Tha's not the way . . ."
Thorfinn-Aberforth waved his wand, and the blood disappeared from the bed. "Here," he said, holding out a phial to Albus. "She'll be needing this. Take it to her."
He took the phial of blood but said, "I don't know where she is. I've looked and looked, but I can't find her.."
But the figure was gone. All at once, he heard Minerva singing:
"Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes,
While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw,
But to me it's delightless—my Nanie's awa."
"Albus . . ."
"The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violates bathe in the weet o' the morn;"
"Albus . . ."
"They pain my sad bosom sae sweetly they blaw."
"Albus . . ."
'They mind me o' Nanie . . ."
"Albus . . ."
He opened his eyes, and it took him a moment before he recognised the face of Cressida Burgess looking down at him in the dim light of the hospital room.
"I'm sorry to wake you, but I thought you could use something to eat." She motioned to a small table on which sat a plate bearing a sandwich and a glass of milk.
"It's ham and cheese—not your favourite, as I recall, but I'm afraid that's all that was left in the staff room," she said. When he waved his hands, she added, " No arguments, Albus, you need to eat."
"Is everything all right? How is she," he asked, his voice papery with recent sleep.
"She's holding her own," replied the Healer. "The same cannot be said for you, however. Please eat." She Summoned the table so it sat in front of him, and a napkin appeared magically on his lap.
"Still as bossy as ever, I see," he said.
"More so. Eat." She sat quietly with him until he had finished most of the sandwich and drank the milk.
"There. I've done what you asked. Now you can do me a favour," he said quietly.
"What is it?"
"Tell me the truth. Will she live?" His eyes were red, and very, very wide, but his voice was even.
"I hope so . . . I think so," she answered.
He said nothing, just looked back at the figure lying prone on the bed.
"You love her very much." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"I'm glad. She must be an extraordinary woman," Cressida said softly.
"Yes, she is."
"How long have you been married?"
"It will be ten years this December." His gaze hadn't shifted from the bed.
"She's a teacher at your school, I believe," said Cressida.
"Yes. Transfiguration."
"Yes, I've read some of her work—quite brilliant, some of it," she said. "Is that how you met?"
"Yes and no. I met her when she was a student . . ." he stopped, suddenly self-conscious, and looked back at his interlocutor.
Cressida sensed his discomfort. "It's all right, it's really none of my business."
"No, it's just that I didn't want it to sound like . . ." he stopped again. Like what? Like what it, in fact, had been?
"No, I wasn't thinking that you had taken up with a student, Albus," said Cressida quickly." It's been a long time, but I think I still know you better than that. Besides, I suspect she's been out of school for more than ten years."
"We married the year after she began teaching at Hogwarts."
"That must be nice, to work in the same place," said Cressida. "Otherwise it's hard to manage two careers and a marriage," she said.
"Yes, it has its benefits," he said. "And its difficulties."
"One of those being that you need to keep it a secret," she said.
"Not a secret, exactly," he answered.
"No? Everyone here seemed quite surprised to hear you were married," she said.
"We haven't broadcast it, but our friends are certainly aware of it, and of course our colleagues and some of the Ministry . . ."
"I'm sorry Albus," she interrupted, "I didn't mean to sound like I was accusing you of hiding your marriage. It was just a surprise, that's all. Your name is in the Daily Prophet often enough; it's just odd that they never mention a wife."
"Minerva is a private person," he said carefully. "We both feel that it's better for the school if we keep our relationship strictly professional during term. I suppose it just became habit."
"I see. Probably wise." She didn't mention the obvious fact that a pregnancy and a baby would have changed that dramatically.
"And you, Cressida," he said, "are you married? Children?" He wasn't especially interested in small talk at the moment, but he felt the need to steer the conversation away from his relationship with Minerva.
"Heavens, no," she replied. "I never found anyone who wanted to compete with my work. Or maybe nobody felt I was worth the bother." She immediately regretted this last; it sounded like she was asking him to disagree.
"I doubt that," he said. "Too many men do find it a competition, I think . . . a wife with an independent career. A very successful career, I might add. It's their loss."
"Maybe," she said.
They were both glad of the interruption when Healer Pye came quietly into the room.
"Oh, hello, Cressida. I didn't realise you were here," he said.
"It's all right Galeneus. I was just bringing Albus something to eat. We're old acquaintances," she said.
"Oh?" said Pye.
"Yes. We studied together for a time," said Albus.
"Well . . ." said Pye, unsure of the appropriate response. "I need to run some tests, if you don't mind," he said, approaching the bed.
"Of course," said Albus.
"I'll check in on you, Albus," said Cressida, making to leave. "Galeneus, let me know if you need anything," she added. But she waited while he ran his tests.
"Thank you, I will," Pye answered, already examining the under sheet to see if there was any bleeding. He next waved his wand over Minerva several times then examined the numbers his wand revealed.
"How is she?" asked Albus anxiously.
"Her bleeding is almost stopped, which is very good news indeed. Some of her blood values are improved, but I'd still like to see her fibrinogen levels a bit higher. I'll come back in another hour and give her some more Blood Replenishing Potion," said Pye then left quietly.
"I'd best be going, too. I won't tell you not to worry, Albus. But she seems a strong witch, and I'd say she's got a better than average chance of recovering. Don't wear yourself out; she'll need your strength as she heals," said Cressida
"Thank you, Cressida. And thank you for the sandwich," Albus replied. She patted his hand and went.
When Poppy Pomfrey arrived three hours later, Albus was sitting exactly where she had left him the evening before, simply watching Minerva.
"How was her night," she asked.
"All right. Pye seems to think she's better. She hasn't woken, though," he said.
"That's probably to be expected," Poppy said. Privately, however, it worried her. Minerva's body had been through a lot in the previous day and night, and she was depleted and exhausted, but Poppy had hoped she might show some signs of consciousness before this. "Albus, have you slept at all?" she asked, gently chiding.
"Yes, actually, I dozed a bit," he said, remembering his disturbing dream. What had it meant? He didn't ordinarily attribute much meaning to dreams, other than as the effluvia of the mind's daily life, but this had seemed different. Or was it just his heightened emotional state that made it seem so? It did, however, remind him of something he had to do.
"Poppy, I wonder if you could procure some parchment, some ink and a quill for me? I don't feel quite up to conjuring them myself," he asked apologetically.
"Of course, Albus. She took out her wand and quickly conjured the requested items, setting them on the small table on which Albus' dinner had been set the previous night. She thought he might want privacy for the letter she suspected he was going to write, so she excused herself to find Healer Pye.
Albus dipped the quill into the ink, and wrote:
20 October 1967
My dear Thorfinn,
I write with a heavy heart and deep regret that I must impart my news to you in writing rather than in person, but I believe you will understand the necessity when you read what I have to say.
Yesterday afternoon, Minerva was taken suddenly ill. Our matron, Madam Pomfrey, was quick to recognise the problem as a complication of her pregnancy and transported her to St Mungo's immediately, where she gave birth to a son. I am very sorry to tell you that the child was stillborn. Minerva is still very ill, although the Healers in charge of her care are hopeful that she will recover.
I am with her and will alert you to any change in her condition, and of course, I will let you know when she is ready to receive visitors. For the moment, however, I don't believe there is anything to be gained by you coming down to London, although if you feel you would like to, I will certainly understand.
I'm sorry.
Yours,
Albus
He reread the letter several times to be sure it was not overly alarming, but that it also struck the correct note of gravity. He didn't want to frighten Thorfinn needlessly, but just in case she didn't . . . no. He wouldn't think of that. He hoped Thorfinn would remain in Caithness until Minerva awoke, but he recognised that, if the situations were reversed, he himself would not take kindly to an admonition to stay away.
He folded the note, addressed it, and put it in his pocket. He would ask Poppy to send it by owl post when she returned to Hogwarts.
/***/
Poppy found Healer Pye at a desk in the corridor. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked exhausted.
"Healer Pye?"
"Oh, Madam Pomfrey," he said, looking up. "Did you get some rest?"
"Yes, thank you, although I suspect you did not," she answered.
"It's part of the job," he said, unable to hide the weariness in his voice. "I grabbed a quick nap in the call room. I expect you'd like to know how Mrs Dumbledore is doing?"
"Yes, please," she answered.
Pye told her about what he had found overnight and his ongoing concerns. "The Blood Replenishing Potion seems to be helping, but it's not bringing her fibrinogen up fast enough.
"What can you do about it?" asked Poppy.
"Not much, except hope it comes up soon," replied Pye. "I don't dare give her more potion at this point; it might overload her volume or iron, but I don't have any other way of replacing her fibrinogen."
Not much. Poppy was sick to death of hearing those words. Fatigue, worry, and frustration were building up in her to a boiling point. Not much. If she heard those two words again, she thought, she might scream aloud. She fought her anger and managed a cordial, "Thank you, Healer Pye."
She went back to Minerva's room to check—on Albus more than Minerva, really—and he asked her to send the letter he had written. She told him about the morning's announcements and about Molly Weasley's message. He did not act surprised, so Poppy assumed Minerva had told him about Molly.
She Flooed back to Hogwarts and took Albus' letter to the Owlery. As she was walking back to the infirmary, something started to tickle at the back of her mind. By the time she arrived at her destination, the tickle had grown to a persistent prodding. She decided to look to see if there was anything in her extensive collection of medical texts that could be of use.
Two hours later, she had nearly exhausted her resources on blood, blood components, Blood Replenishing Potions, spells, and charms, and even had even cracked open her book on dealing with Dark Magic injuries, Cursed: A Healer's Guide to Dark Spells, Potions, and Other Nasty Things, hoping for something—anything—that might help her help her friend. She had thumbed through the chapter on Blood Magic and was about to snap the unpleasant book shut when an illustration caught her eye. It was a still engraving of a man in medieval dress who was holding what looked to be a knife over the wrist of another, obviously ailing man. The knife-wielder was holding a basin under the other man's arm, presumably to catch the blood.
The caption read:
Muggle doctors (called "barbers") often let blood as part of their "healing" rituals. Wizards and witches should not be alarmed if they encounter this practice in Muggle hospitals, as Muggle blood does not possess the same magical properties as wizarding blood, so the Dark Magic effects do not apply.
Silly prejudices, thought Poppy with irritation. Muggles haven't used blood-letting as a medical practice in more than a hundred years. In fact, she thought, some of the Muggle medical practices she had talked about with Jean-Baptiste seemed more advanced and promising than those typically employed by wizarding Healers.
Suddenly, she sat up straight. A conversation she had had with Jean-Baptiste had just popped into her head. They had been discussing the differences between Muggle and wizarding approaches to triaging trauma, and Poppy had remarked that Muggles were terribly hampered by the inability to use spells to instantly stanch minor blood flow, close superficial wounds, or replenish blood in the field. Jean-Baptiste had replied that the Muggles did quite well, considering, and that they had come up with the ingenious idea of transfusing blood from one to another as a way of preventing death from blood loss. While initial experiments were not entirely successful, Jean-Baptiste had told her, once the Muggles had figured out that there were different blood groups with differing antigenic properties, they had become quite adept at using the technique. It was a wonder the wizarding world had not picked up the technique prior to the advent of Blood Replenishing Potions, he said, as it was actually less complicated than in the Muggle world, since the relatively homogenous wizarding gene pool carried only one blood group. Moreover, Jean-Baptiste had continued admiringly, Muggle scientists had developed the capacity to separate blood components, allowing doctors to tailor treatments to their patients' needs, whereas Blood Replenishing Potions simply helped the body create more whole blood quickly. Useful, to be sure, but not without drawbacks.
It was this last bit of the conversation that Poppy thought about now. If they could give Minerva just the blood component with the highest fibrinogen concentration, maybe that would stop the overconsumption of clotting factors without risking volume or iron overload.
She immediately Banished the many texts she had spread out around her back to the shelves, ran to the fireplace, and Flooed to St Mungo's. She didn't, however, stop at Minerva's room. She headed instead to basement laboratories. She had to speak with Jean-Baptiste.