Chapter One: The Space Between Them
"Reports of unsanctioned magic are growing in number throughout all of Europe. Among these magical acts, reanimation of corpses, use of the imperius curse and arcane fire cases pour in the hundreds as far north as Aberdeen. Be aware of your surrounding areas at all times."
"Aberdeen?!" Jez cried at no one. "There isn't any fighting in Aberdeen."
"Everything is in chaos," Minerva clicked her tongue, her eyes fixed on the common room ceiling in a blur.
"The muggle genocide grows in lesser parts of Germany and Czech territories, estimated at seven hundred thousand. There are reports of magical intervention. Your ministry warns you that it is still against magical law to intervene with muggle affairs and prosecution may result as penalty."
"Ridiculous," the quidditch captain shook his head.
"Axis supporters Henrik Schnauzer, Achilles Gould and Alexei Sturgev will be held for trial of war crimes in the year 1944, and shall reside in Azkaban until that time."
The reporter stopped for a minute before reading, "Ally, General Damascus Crichton is among the dead found at border of Vichy France. Death count unknown.
"The Wizards Against Non-magical Death would like to remind you to stay firm. This has been a public service announcement.
"Thank you."
The room stayed silent as the static filled the air.
Minerva blinked sadly. All she knew was that her father was in France somewhere. It was a big country, wasn't it?
"I was really hoping there would be good news. Would be terrific if my ears would hear the words, 'Gellert Grindewald is dead'," Jez stated as he walked over to the radio and turned off he volume. "This war would be over."
"There would be someone else to take his place," Minerva stated simply. "He is not the only one who believes in destroying the muggles."
"McGonagall, can't you be positive for once?"
The girl sat up casually, not paying much of any attention to Jez. "We are not fighting one man. We are fighting an army. I'm only being logical."
"Sod your logic. Give me hope, damn it," he rolled his eyes.
She was truly tired of his enthusiasm.
Minerva clicked her tongue, "Yes, Jez. Someone will come along and blow Gellert Grindewald to smithereens and the war will be over. Better?"
"Insurmountably."
The girl let out a sigh and looked around the filled common room. Ever since the memorial, interest in the outside world grew tenfold. Nearly all of the Gryffindors were in the common room at ten, listening to the news. It was a favorite study break.
But of course, it was Friday. No one was studying, not even Minerva. She was glad for the week-end ahead of her. They all were. It would be a Hogsmeade week-end, the first of the year.
Minerva did still hold some reservations, however. Headmaster Dippet could cancel the trip at any moment and she would not put it past the loathsome bin of human scum. But she really could not blame him. Things were becoming terribly scary.
"Do we even know where he is?" Lucinda Callaghan asked from the corner as she gathered up her unopened intermediate potions book.
"Grindewald?" one of the Jones twins asked.
Jez didn't wait for clarification. "Not a damn clue. Hasn't been seen in months!"
"That's not very promising, is it?" Gwen sighed.
"Oh, he will show himself. He's just waiting for another big splash. He's one of those showy mass-murderers."
What was he going on about, for Merlin's sake? "Stop it, Jez. Your conspiracy theories aren't conducive to anything but fear and hysteria."
"Free speech doesn't have to be conducive," he countered with his hands on his hips.
"No, but it shouldn't scare your cohorts," the girl stated with simplicity.
"I only had an idea and thought I should share it," he rolled his eyes.
Minerva clicked her tongue, "You can judge better than that." And then she walked up the stairs to her dormitory, not bothering to notice if he responded or not. She didn't care either way.
Jez had a fire in him for justice, a quality which she admired, but he expected too much too quickly. War was a long process filled with many battles. But she did hope that the death of Grindewald would be the death of the war, at least as far as magical folk were concerned. She had hope for that, though perhaps not the certainty that he did.
Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, Minerva walked towards the bureau and took an old cotton nightgown from it. She liked the daisies on it. Things always felt a little cheerier when wearing daisies.
With her back to the entrance, Minerva stripped down to her underwear before throwing the nightgown over her head and shoulders. She looked out the window as she absent-mindedly pulled the fabric past her hips.
Rain arrived on Halloween and had no interest in leaving. Certainly, there had been pockets of empty clouds, but the sky perpetually stayed gray. Currently, the air was misty, a sort of falsified rain that was worse than actual droplets. She felt as if she were drinking any moment she inhaled out there—particularly when she was on the quidditch pitch, which she was an hour before now.
She ran her fingers through her yet damp hair and began braiding it anyway, reaching gracefully behind her head.
Things nearly felt normal again: the quidditch team was doing well, her grades were as high as ever and the general humdrum of classes set in.
But of course there were things that would never be the same. There was no talk of replacing Hamish as Head Boy. Helen's bed continued to be unoccupied day in and day out. Minerva received letters daily from rubbish institutes who wanted her for her animagus skills. And she sent her first draft of thesis paper to Berthold Rhytherton, who was not Albus.
She did not speak to him, Professor Dumbledore, outside of the obligatory classroom participation. They made eye contact occasionally, but no words. What reason was there for them? They would not change their professional relationship or erase what was said between them in the firelight.
A familiar ache crept into her chest and throat. The girl swallowed it down as she had done for the last few weeks.
Her heart was broken, but he had been right: it was healing. She did not think of him as often, now. Her mind was much more concerned with classes and finding ways to help the war effort, at least that is what she told herself.
Tomorrow, in Hogsmeade, she planned on helping some local women make well-packages for their soldiers. It would be fulfilling and a fine act for humanity. In any case, she wouldn't want to be outside in the never-ending rain.
"Jez would like to know"—Minerva turned to see Gwen poking her head through the doorway— "if you have finished your Defense Against the Dark Arts paper."
Minerva sighed, "Why?"
Gwen shrugged, completely disinterested. "He has been too busy with quidditch and me, apparently. I already told him that I won't let him copy mine."
The girl raised an eyebrow, "You've finished yours?"
"Of course not. But he isn't copying me."
Her lips twitched up. Good for Gwen. Minerva, on the other hand, was ambivalent on the manner. Jez could perform on a practical level in that class, but papers did nothing but bring his grade down. "I will let him use my reference page," she nodded, "but that is all."
"It's more than he deserves, the twit. If I were you, I wouldn't help him, especially with how he's been to you lately."
She shrugged. "It's only a reference page. He will still struggle plenty on his own."
Gwen shrugged back and nodded, "Fair point. Thank you."
And then Gwen popped her head out, disappearing completely.
Minerva let out a sigh into the empty room and licked her chapped lips. She was too nice, sometimes, but she saw no point in causing Jez to throw a tirade. It was her job to keep the peace now, wasn't it?
Minerva looked down from the paper in her hand to the address on the small cottage she stared at: 42 Cauldron.
She was not certain what she had expected; a warehouse, perhaps. Instead, her eyes roved over this cottage that hardly passed for a shed. The wood eroded nearest the ground and where there should have been stairs, there was only a tall upward lunge to the front door. The paint seemed to chip off with every droplet that hit the corroding roof.
The girl swallowed and looked behind her, considering the possibility that this was not at all where she should be. In the distance, through the hazy rain, a clump of people stood with unknowable faces. Their existence brought an even stranger fear to Minerva's nerves. Were they students that somehow found their way deeper into town? Or villagers?
Overhead, the faint drone of muggle flying contraptions filled the air, growing louder with every passing second.
And then a wail, one that could only mean danger.
The sirens were for the muggles, not for the hidden, protected village of Hogsmeade. A magical barrier covered them from non-magical actions and eyes. Even if the muggles did drop a bomb, it would not hurt anyone below.
That did not stop the shiver from crawling down her spine.
Minerva looked up at the sky through the haze and watched as two or three war machines whizzed by. Muggles were in those things, flying to battle. She wondered who they were and if they would die, knowing that she would never know.
She wished the best for them as they went south.
The muggle sirens did not stop.
Behind her, the group of shadows broke apart and two of them came purposefully toward her. She suddenly felt much less afraid of the house than those two unknowns.
Her hand rapped against the door with urgency.
In the not too far off distance, Minerva could hear the men talking—indeed the shadows were men: "Surely not so far from town."
"Look. Of course it is."
Minerva's stomach dropped: that was Albus's voice. And Professor Tate's.
The door opened. A middle-aged, dark haired witch looked on the girl with kind eyes. She spoke with a strange accent, "W.A.N.D.?".
"Yes," she nodded. "Well packages."
The woman nodded, "Come in. Take your shoes off and tell your friends to hurry. The house does not like rain." And then she disappeared behind the door.
Minerva looked behind her at her two professors who were but feet away.
"I told you it was a student," Professor Tate grinned, proud of himself. "My eyes are still good. No runaways today!"
Albus looked from Minerva to his companion with discomfort and then back at the woman. He was cautious, speaking to her. Whether that was out of professional restraint or personal fear, Minerva could not know. "Why are you so far from town, Miss McGonagall?"
She knew, given the company, that there really was nothing to fear. Even if Professor Tate wanted to send her back to town, Albus would not force her. And Albus was her Head of House.
"I am helping to make well packages for soldiers," she stated simply.
"This is not an approved activity," Albus said mechanically and without authority. "All students are meant to be in shops in the center of town."
Minerva clicked her tongue, ready for any fight. She would not allow her plans to be shot down. "Professor Dippet cannot dictate what I do or do not do in my free time. I will be meeting with the rest of the students at three, just as we all were instructed." She looked from Albus who looked too uncomfortable to challenge her and Professor Tate who seemed too thrilled with himself to feel anything but elation. Out of a growing need to challenge authority, she added, "I'll even lead the rest of the students back to the castle."
Professor Tate continued beaming and leaned in as though he were going to tell a great secret. "We ought to bring you back to town. But I admire a bit of rebellion for a good cause."
"In or out!"
Minerva looked behind her at the still open door where the woman was standing, tapping an impatient foot.
She made eye contact with Albus, "Excuse me. I must add value to my life."
Then she turned and crawled over the edge of the house to the doorway. The woman who was still standing there did not offer a hand as Minerva came to her feet. She immediately walked in through the threshold and slid off her muddy boots.
"In or out?" the woman called outside again.
The professors responded together with, "In."
Minerva did not turn around as she heard the two men climb over the edge and crawl to the pile of shoes. She did make eye contact with Albus, however, once he was beside her. The man looked mortified with his large blue eyes, deep frown and sunken cheeks.
The girl felt nothing other than an instinct to be as rebellious as possible, to ignore her ex-lover and his friend. By what nature this instinct came about, she did not know. Discomfort, perhaps? This was meant to be her time to do some good. Instead they would be there, analyzing her. Damn it, all she wanted was a day away from Albus.
He cleared his throat and stated in a low tone before Professor Tate could get to them, "Forgive us. It's very wet out there."
His tone told her that he was indeed sorry.
She could not be mad at him for that.
"And it would also be easy for me to leave if you were not here," she added, knowing that Professor Tate's mind, at least, thought that. Professor Dumbledore on the other hand wanted to keep space between them, just as she did. Neither of them wanted to be tempted, perhaps. That was the fear, wasn't it?
The door slammed behind them.
R&R SVP