Chapter 21

Minerva stirred slightly, stopping as she became aware of the little body pressed into hers. She smiled, looking down at the spiky black hair as unruly as his father's had been. She shifted imperceptibly to see his face better, so smooth and innocent in his baby dreams. She was so thankful that Albus had volunteered their babysitting services so that James and Lily could go off on a weekend holiday alone. The war had grown so fierce of late that everyone walked around a bundle of nerves, frightened of their own shadows. The fear was taking its toll on the Order of the Phoenix especially, as everyday there were more disappearances, more bodies discovered.

James and Lily had earned a well-deserved break, but they were afraid to leave Harry alone, only consenting because Albus offered to bring him to Hogwarts with them. Hogwarts was the only safe haven, the lone oasis in a desert of violence. Snuggled as she was between her husband and the baby it was hard for her to remember there was a war on at all. It was the best weekend she had had in years; peaceful and natural, the way she had always imagined she would feel if she and Albus had had a child of their own. She stroked the soft, black head against her shoulder wishing again that this contentment could last longer than one night.

*****

"Albus?"

Poppy's voice broke through his concentration, and he looked up. He had been staring at Minerva for what had likely been hours, attempting to impose his will upon her—to heal, to return to him.

"Has she been resting like that all night?" She felt Minerva's wrist, counting the beats driving her pulse.

"Yes," he said wearily, "She has been quite peaceful. I haven't heard any indication of pain for some time."

Poppy's head bobbed in acknowledgement, her gentle hands deftly moving across key parts of Minerva's body: her forehead, neck, and her side. When she pressed slightly against the soft wall of her abdomen, feeling where the ribs should be, Minerva's face tightened in her sleep, and a sharp moan escaped her lips. Neither she nor the toddler in her arms woke from their dreaming.

"The skelegrow is only now beginning to work. I can't feel any rib bones as of yet. I am afraid her discomfort will increase greatly when they do begin to grow. It's good she is resting now." She eyed Dumbledore with a calculated practice. "Speaking of rest, Albus, you really should try and get some yourself."

"Not quite yet, Poppy. I need to wait until she wakes up. I want her to see me here, next to her." I need to see her wake up, he added silently to himself.

"As you wish," Poppy said, clearly giving up. "Arthur and Kingsley are here to take Brian back to his family. It seems that Kingsley has used his influence with the muggle Prime Minister to arrange for him to be 'found' unharmed and delivered to his parents by the muggle authorities."

"You think he is well enough to return then, Poppy?" Albus asked, concerned.

"He seems to have suffered no ill effects, physically speaking. After Arthur performs the memory obliviation charms I'll do one last assessment and send them on their way." She studied Albus's face more closely, the worry evident in his eyes. "Is something wrong, Albus? I thought you wanted to return him to his mother straight away."

Albus sighed. "Of course we need to return him as soon as possible. His poor mother must be out of her mind with worry. It's just…just that I fear Minerva's condition will deteriorate with him gone. His nearness does seem to soothe her somehow."

Poppy placed her hand on Albus's shoulder, her voice warm and soft with emotion. "Severus told me what happened, Albus. What she did to save him—to protect him."

He swallowed hard as the harrowing image resurfaced in his memory. "If you could have seen her, Poppy. She didn't know we were coming, that we were there." He stopped speaking abruptly, but the guilt he felt hung tangibly in the air.

"You got her out, Albus. She's safe now."

Albus smiled sadly at her, as if to say it was not enough that she was safe now. That it would never be enough to him. He rose slowly and moved to lift Brian from her embrace. The effect was immediate. As soon as his arms began to tug gently at the toddler's body, removing him from her side she lurched forward, crying out against the pain in her sleep, clutching him more tightly to her. Her movements jolted Brian awake and he began to cry almost instantly, bewildered at this unexpected tug of war. Her hold on him was desperate but her weakened state did not allow for resistance. Another gentle pull and Albus handed the child to Poppy, who held him to her chest, whispering words of comfort as she whisked him out to where Arthur and Kingsley were waiting.

Albus stared down at his wife in alarm. He had been right to fear her reaction. Her face so peaceful before now had a look of panic, even in unconsciousness. Her hands reached out weakly around her, grasping wildly for something she could neither find nor reach. The movement was causing her pain. A sheen of perspiration broke out across her forehead, her breathing increasingly shallow and rapid. His arms reached to restrain her, and he could feel her attempts to fight against him, but the strength was just not there. "Minerva, love," he spoke softly, his words calm and steady, "Everything is all right. Brian—the child is fine, love. He is fine. You are safe now. You are both safe."

"Shhh...love, hold tight to me. We must be very still, very quiet." She spoke in hushed tones as she crouched against the corner of the stone pillars. The night was so dark she could see nothing, not even the live burden in her arms. If she could only keep the child still it was possible they might remain unseen. The ground was shaking as the battle raged, she could feel it rock beneath her. She heard the sizzle of stray spells bursting against the cold air angry at their lack of contact as they whizzed past their intended objects. A shadow moved towards her, the shape darker than the night around it. A light was coming from a face, twisted and inhuman. She turned her body against the rock attempting to shield his small body, but she was too late. They had been discovered.

Her strength was not enough, though she clutched him to her chest with all her might, she felt him being pulled from her grasp. "Please, Tom, no!" she begged, arms reaching towards him. "Please, you have me… do what you will with me, but don't hurt him. He's a child, just a child. Please!" His body was wrenched from her, a look of terror on his face. "Don't! Don't hurt him. I'll do anything—anything—please, leave him be." But she was pleading with empty darkness.

Vaguely she was aware of strong, gentle hands restraining her, and a voice—calm and reassuring was speaking in the distance. Albus? Was it really Albus? She warred within herself, wanting desperately to find him: to resurface and see him, feel him, to hear him. And yet she struggled against the desire, positive she would wake and see the crimson eyes of Tom Riddle, boring cruelly into her instead of the luminous blue eyes she longed to see.

There was a burning in her side, searing through her across her chest. It was hard to breathe. Perhaps she was dying, she mused—the thought was welcome. If only she could have saved the child….

"Minerva, love, can you hear me? You are home. The boy is fine. Everything is going to be fine, love, just fine." Her eyes fluttered open, out of focus as they blinked against the light. "Minerva? Darling, can you see me? It's me, love, it's Albus." As her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings he was rocked with sadness at the guarded look of confusion he saw in them. There was no trust as they gazed up at him. His heart broke with the knowledge that she could be afraid of him. Him. He who would have destroyed himself with his own hands bit by bit before he would ever harm her. "Minerva, it is me, Albus. You are back home, at Hogwarts, you are safe. No one will harm you further."

She studied him for a few moments, cautiously raising a shaking hand to his face, her cold fingers making tentative contact with his cheek. Her fingertips slowly felt their way over his face, his beard, his lips. "Albus?" she finally spoke, her voice dry and hoarse. "Albus, is it really you?"

"Yes, love." Her fingers were trembling lightly against him and he covered her hand with his, pressing them closer. He needed to feel her, to feel the pulse beneath her skin. She still looked as though she didn't quite believe him. Her fingers were becoming damp from the tears that were quietly escaping his eyes. The wetness seemed to wake her, to bring her into reality.

Panic overtook her and she jerked herself up, immediately regretful of the movement. "Where is he?" she gasped through the pain, "what happened to him—where is he?" She was madly trying to push herself up, fighting against the excruciating jolts of pain running through her as she did so. Albus pushed her gently back against the bed, carefully holding her as still as he possibly could with her writhing against him, the wild terror in her green eyes growing exponentially as they searched the room for him.

"Brian is fine. Arthur Weasley just came to take him back to his family."

"Brian?" She was trying to make sense of it, but the pain was making coherent thought difficult.

"Yes. The boy's name is Brian. Arthur and Kingsley are taking him back to his mother as we speak. He is perfectly fine, Min. You saved him." He could see the relief wash over her, and her body relaxed, dropping back against the pillow. She winced as her back hit the soft sheet, but the fear had left her eyes. More carefully she tried again to raise herself into a sitting position, but Albus increased the pressure on her shoulders. "Minerva, you must lie very still. Listen to me," he said in a soft yet firm voice as she continued to struggle against him, "Poppy had to dissolve your ribcage. She has given you skelegrow, but the bones aren't reforming yet. There is nothing to protect the organs on the right side of your body. I am going to let go of you, but you must lie very still." Slowly he released his grip on her arms and readjusted the blanket that had fallen away, recovering her.

Her eyes widened in shock as she became suddenly aware that she had nothing on. She flushed, the heated color contrasting oddly against the mottled yellow and green tainting her pale skin. "Albus, my clothes—where—I need a robe, a gown." Her voice was weak but desperate.

"It's all right, love," he soothed, "you have been completely covered. Poppy doesn't want anything clinging to your skin until she is able to heal your back." His words that had been intended to reassure her, however, had the opposite effect; indeed, Minerva seemed to grow markedly more distressed.

"Albus, please. I need a gown, please get me one." Tears were welling up, threatening to spill over. "Please…I look so—please…I don't want you to see me—"

So that was the cause of her agitation. She was trying to shield him from the extent of her injuries. "Minerva, I have seen you already. I was with you when Poppy conducted her examination, I saw it all." Her flush grew deeper, and her eyes took on a hollow, empty expression. He felt his anger rise with in him mixed with sorrow and fear, the emotions growing evident in his voice as he spoke. He tried to keep the fury at bay, but his hands balled into fists at his side, as he tried to banish the picture of her suffering from his mind.

A deep shame overtook her. It was too late, she realized. He had seen the damage. He had looked upon her: ravaged, broken, and used. He had seen it all. Hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks, wetting her hair and pillow as she turned her face away from him. The full extent of her torture and abuse had been laid out coldly before him in all its brutal ugliness, and she couldn't keep it from him. She had known all along that he would know what was happening. Albus had recovered many a victim's lifeless body left waiting to be found after the Death Eaters had finished with it. And of course, Severus would have told him—reported what he knew. But she had hoped in the deepest recesses of her mind that if he only knew generally of her abuse she could salvage his regard for her. Ridiculous, truly, for she had fully expected to die, but there had always been the tiniest seed of hope that she would be with him again. Now that hope was destroyed, because he knew, and would discard her like the piece of rubbish she had become. She had heard the anger in his voice, seen it in his eyes. He had every right to be angry. She had done this to him; to both of them. She had placed herself in this situation; it was her doing, her fault. Yes, he was right to be angry. She couldn't bear to look at him, and choked out between her sobs the most feeble of apologies. "Forgive me, Albus. I didn't expect to live."

This was not the reaction he had anticipated. He could see the shame in her eyes, which he understood. That was a common if unfounded response victims of sexual assault often experienced. But to feel shame because of him? He was her husband, for Merlin's sake! Didn't she know that he could only look upon her with love and devotion, as he always had? "Min, darling, look at me. Please, look at me." But her eyes remained turned, fixated on the curtained wall, large tears rolling down her hollow cheeks. "Minerva, listen to me. Your shame is unfounded. I saw and it angers me—angers me at those bastards who thought it was their right to hurt you. Please don't think that I would ever be—"

Her breath was coming in shrill wheezes, the torrent of her tears taxing her working lung to its limit. He cupped his fingers around her chin, trying to turn her face to his. She closed her eyes, cringing as his fingers pressed against the bruises across her cheekbone. Horrified, his hand dropped away. Damn you, Albus Dumbledore, he cursed himself. He had been trying to comfort her, but he had undeniably caused the involuntary flinch that had crossed her features. His alarm grew as the wheezing breaths evolved into sharp, ragged gasps.

"Please, Albus," she whispered, her voice so faint he could barely hear it, "please get me a gown."

"I will, love." He watched her struggle for air. The tears had stopped and her eyes were closed, her lips tinted a faint blue color. "I'll be right back, Min, right back." But he doubted that she heard him.

He emerged from the partition separating Minerva's bed from the rest of the hospital wing.

"Albus? What happened, is Minerva—" her voice was anxious as she rushed to meet him.

"She is awake—was awake. Poppy, she wants me to get her a gown to wear. I told her you didn't think it wise to have anything against her skin until her back heals, but she became quite distraught. She worked herself into a frenzy, you'd better see to her. I am going to fetch a robe." He walked past the concerned mediwitch, consumed in his own tormented thoughts.

Poppy hurried to Minerva's bedside, alarmed at her friend's quickened pulse and labored breathing. "Minerva, are you awake? It's Poppy."

Minerva's eyes opened and she turned her face up to Poppy's, but she was unable to speak. Her chest burned and the room spun round, dotted with hazy spots.

"Minerva, I need you to calm yourself. You are hyperventilating, and you only have one lung at present. Try and breathe slowly, love. Nice and slow." She placed her hand across Minerva's damp forehead, her fingers stroking through her hair. "That's it, Min, that's right. Just slow, deep breaths."

Minerva concentrated on Poppy's words, trying her best to comply. She felt as though she were drowning. The fire in her lung began to dull, and the room stopped spinning. But the despair in her heart was dragging her downward in a rapid spiral.

Sensing her distress Poppy spoke. "Albus has gone to get you a robe, dear. He'll be back in a moment."

"Poppy, he saw everything." Her voice sounded small and far away to her ears.

"Yes, love, he did. I tried to make him leave, but he wouldn't budge. He hasn't left your side."

"I never wanted anyone to see."

The pain laden in the softly spoken statement tore at Poppy's heart. The humiliation would be hard for anyone to bear, but for Minerva, it must be another kind of torture all together. She had always been so dignified, modest. And proud. "No one saw, love. Just Albus and myself."

"And Severus."

"Yes, Severus, too." Minerva's eyes were vacant, staring beyond her. Poppy suppressed a shudder, wondering what Minerva was seeing right now. "Minerva, we had to examine you, love. I was so afraid you might…die. But you must know that none of us, neither Severus nor myself will ever share this with anyone. And Albus is your husband, Minerva. He loves you, he needed to know."

"I can bear that you have seen. And Severus. But Albus, oh Poppy—what have I done?" She had killed Albus's love for her, that is what she had done. For how could he look upon her and still want her? Damn Lucius Malfoy. He left the physical evidence, the proof she could not hide. She felt the hysteria rising up with in her and desperately tried to beat it back down. "Poppy, I can't live—without him. He did this to me because he knew that he wouldn't—that Albus wouldn't—he told me so, every time he—"

"Hush now, Min," Poppy murmured, seeing that Minerva was getting worked up again. She had to keep her calm and still, so that she didn't further injure herself. "Albus loves you, Minerva. He always will."

"How can he? Poppy, what they did—they're not men, they're monsters. And they did it to hurt him, Poppy. Him, not me. They knew it all along, they used me to hurt him. Tom…he said so…he said that now that I…that Albus…" She stopped speaking abruptly and grabbed her side, soft where there should have been resistance. There was a stabbing sensation, hot and sharp under her skin, pushing outward from her spine.

Poppy saw her face twist in the pain, and knew instantly what it meant. The skelegrow was working. "The bones are growing back, Min, that's all. It'll be very painful, but it will end in a few hours. Then we can regenerate your lung." But Minerva wasn't listening, she had pressed her eyes tightly shut, her mouth set in a thin line. Poppy wiped her own eyes, then, knowing that Minerva's internal battle was going to be much harder to win than the one her body was fighting. She sat in the chair at the bedside, her fingers still gently running through her hair. What hell had she been through these last seven days? They had seen the physical evidence, but they all knew that the marks visible on her body were only the tip of the iceberg. The Cruciatus didn't leave marks, nor did the nightmares and memories and the torture of one's mind and spirit. They did not leave marks on the outside, but they left scars on the soul.

"I hurt him…oh, Albus, forgive me…" Poppy heard the nearly inaudible whisper as she saw Minerva sink out of consciousness.