"Correct my mistakes"
She walked down one empty corridor after another. Everything around was covered in darkness. She could see nothing but an occasional glare of light that revealed a painting frame or a suit of armour. Her steps were quiet, her posture cautious, her mind focused on not making any extensive noise. All of her senses were on high alert, expecting danger to lurk behind every corner.
The path she took was the same but different at the same time. At night, everything seemed ten times bigger and scarier than in full daylight. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and worried that its sound would give her position away.
She couldn't get caught.
The girl was getting close to her destination now. Her breathing slowed down, and she was brushing the wall with her side as she walked After every step, the witch glanced around for any signs of peril. On the sound of distant steps, she turned her head but saw no one.
Minerva let out a long breath. Her cat ears turned out to be too sensitive for the expedition.
When she finally reached the right door, she blinked her eyes in relief. Having made sure she was indeed alone, the witch changed back into her human form. She took out her wand, pointed it at the lock, and cast every unlocking spell she could think of.
Not a single one worked − to no surprise, really. She would have to approach the problem from a different angle. She took out the picking tools.
"Don't you even think about it."
Minerva heard a dangerous growl next to her ear. She jumped forward, turned mid-air, and hit the door with her back. The girl was ready to attack, or at least to defend herself. But then, she recognized the poorly lit face and nearly dropped her wand.
Mere feet before her, there stood the Head of Gryffindor House. How he got there without making a sound, the girl could only guess.
As well as his intentions. The wizard's expression betrayed no emotions.
"Come with me," ordered Professor Flamel, and Minerva had no choice but to follow.
In complete silence, the Alchemy teacher walked her straight to his office.
"In," he said sharply.
Even after they went inside, the professor paid his student hardly any attention. He looked around the room until he found an empty chair.
"Sit down."
The girl did as she was told. She assumed that her teacher would take another seat, but no. He stood mere feet away, towering over her.
"What were you thinking, girl? Breaking into your teacher's office! A Head Girl, nonetheless. And I was told you're the responsible one."
A wave of guilt flushed over the girl. But she stood her ground.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Flamel's brows furrowed.
"Cut the crap, will you? I've got no time for your nonsense."
His lips formed a thin line. The teacher was glaring at her now. What he said next sounded like a threat.
"You'd better not force me to use Legilimency on you. You know I'll do it if I have to."
Minerva's eyes widened.
"You're a Legilimens," she stated in horror.
"You're damn right," Flamel replied not without pride. "Hell of a good one."
The girl paled but managed to remain calm. The professor's revelation could easily be a bluff. Although she wouldn't risk finding out that it wasn't. The alchemist was famous for living over six hundred years. It's plenty of time to learn everything there was to know about magic. Odds were that Professor Flamel could drag the truth out of her whether she wanted it or not. At least on her terms, Minerva was to decide what the wizard would learn and when.
"Okay," she said, trying not to sound defeated. "I'll talk."
The teacher nodded and pulled up another chair. But he didn't sit on it. Instead, the wizard put his hands on its back, leaning forward to stare Minerva straight in the eye.
The girl backed away as far as she could without moving her chair. She gulped a lump in her throat, opened her mouth, and said in one breath,
"I had to get out of the castle, and a teacher's fireplace is the only one connected to the external Floo Network."
A few heartbeats later, it became obvious that the girl was not going to elaborate. So professor Flamel did it for her.
"By which you mean you had to transport to a distant location in a possibly short amount of time. Taking a train would be too slow, the broom could be easily seen by Muggles, and you're not good enough to Apparate. The Floo powder was the next logical choice. Any teacher's fireplace would do, but only using your former Head of House's wouldn't rise suspicions, as his office is empty. One question remains: wherever did you have to go without anyone finding out?"
For a moment, Minerva stared back at him, her eyes wide. It scared her how much Professor Flamel got out of her relatively brief answer.
She would have to put her words together with more care.
"I was going… to a hospital."
The professor looked Minerva over, from head to toe.
"I can't see there being anything wrong with you."
Unable to hold his stare any longer, the witch lowered her gaze. She was losing confidence.
"As a visitor," she nearly whispered.
Flamel's eyes narrowed. "And whom could you possibly want to visit?"
Minerva murmured something inaudible.
"Sorry, didn't catch that."
She took a deep breath and spoke more clearly this time.
"Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Saying the name out loud made her heartbeat increase. The witch hadn't told anyone where she was heading. Not even her friends suspected that she would be sneaking out of the school this morning. All Augusta knew was that Minerva's nephew had recently been born, and therefore she got a special permission to visit her brother on a weekend. But Minerva never meant to get there. Malcolm didn't even know this was a possibility.
The girl had made her decision on the night when the whole Wizarding World learned about Grindelwald's defeat. Starting in the late evening, the Wizarding Wireless broadcasted a live report on the Battle of Numengard. The entire Gryffindor House gathered in the common room, listening with bated breath to every single detail. Several hours in, an announcement was made: Dumbledore disarms Grindelwald − the Dark Lord's army surrenders. Through all the cheering, the students also learned that their Transfiguration Professor was transported in a critical state to the nearest hospital.
"The Fall of The Dark Lord, The Rise of a New Hero," said the front page of the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. Still, the hero's condition remained unknown. After a long break in news, a short note was issued, informing about Dumbledore's transfer to St. Mungo's. Unable to reach Aberforth and unwilling to ask the Headmaster for help, Minerva acted on her own.
"Professor Dumbledore, you say?" said Professor Flamel, no hint of surprise in the wizard's voice. His face was unreadable, as if it was made of stone. "Our war hero is a little hard to reach, I'm afraid. They wouldn't let you anywhere near him. What was your plan exactly?'"
The teacher had a fair point, she had to admit. The more they talked, the silliest her idea seemed to be.
"I… haven't thought this much ahead yet."
Flamel's brow went up. He stared at Minerva with such intensity that she felt the wizard's eyes on her despite not even glancing in his direction.
"So uncharacteristically of you," he commented, as he took his arms off the chair.
The wizard circled around the small room. He walked by his desk, the bookshelves, a window. Minerva followed him with her eyes, curiously looking around her teacher's office. This was her first time there. The room was full of books, picture frames, what seemed like ancient ornaments, and small keepsakes that the wizard collected during his long life.
Before the girl had the chance to take a better look at the photographs, the professor came to a sudden halt. He pondered something in his mind and then turned abruptly, his eyes back at Minerva.
"Why would you want to see Albus?" he asked rather harshly.
Minerva's cheeks flushed. She dropped her gaze at her crossed arms, one hand rubbing subconsciously against her forearm. When she spoke, her voice was soft and steady.
"To make sure he's okay." The witch sat up, straightening her back. With a sudden need to explain herself, she added in a reproachful tone, "The press and the wireless give no information on his state. They only said that it was serious and that he still wasn't discharged from St. Mungo's. I need to learn more."
Nicolas gave her a curious look. It made Minerva feel slightly uncomfortable. Her shoulders dropped as she slouched forward in her seat.
On a click of the doorknob, their heads jolted towards the source of the sound. The door to Professor Flamel's chambers flew open, and next moment they were joined by Pernelle, Nicolas's wife, who was almost ready to go.
"Oh dear, you're back already? If you'd give me another minute, I only have to find my hat."
Only when her husband said nothing, the witch looked up and noticed Minerva. "Oh my, a guest! And who might you be?"
"This is Minerva McGonagall."
Before Nicolas could explain more, Pernelle greeted the girl with open arms.
"Oh hello, dear! It's a pleasure to meet you. Albus has told us so much about you."
Minerva blinked. She stared blankly at the older witch.
"Good morning." She said the first thing that came to her mind.
Pernelle's attention went back to her husband. She sent Nicolas a puzzled look.
"Why is she here, Nick?" she asked.
Nicolas's face was graced with an unpleasant smirk.
"I caught her breaking into Albus's office."
His wife put her hand to her chest.
"And why would you do that, dear?"
Once again, she addressed Minerva, and yet it was her husband who answered.
"She claims to be under-informed on his state of health. Which is a very stupid reason to risk expulsion, if you ask me."
"Oh, Nick," Pernelle said in a soft voice as she touched his arm. "You know that there are moments in your life when you act first and think later."
Nicolas eyed Minerva sceptically, as if this statement couldn't possibly apply to her.
"We should take her with us."
"We should not!" Flamel opposed with indignation. His voice was sharp, his posture firm.
"What are you going to do, then?" asked Pernelle, resuming her search for the hat. "You can't stay and deal with her; we don't have enough time."
Nicolas opened his mouth. Evidently, he had valid counterarguments at the end of his tongue. But his wife cut him off before he could voice them.
"I'll go ahead and make the necessary arrangements. You two grab your coats and get ready."
She swiftly walked out from the office, her heels clicking on the hard floor.
After the sound died out, Minerva risked a sideway glance at her teacher. Professor Flamel looked as if he'd been force-fed a huge, ugly toad. He cleared his throat.
"You heard my wife − go take your travelling cloak. It's cold outside."
Minerva's heart skipped a beat. "Where are you taking me?"
Her teacher slipped into a grey light coat. He patted his pockets to check if he packed everything he needed.
"Nowhere unless you hurry up and get your cloak."
"I− I have it right here, sir."
To the wizard's surprise, the girl reached to her magically enlarged pocket and pulled out a Muggle jacket. Flamel raised a brow, looking mildly impressed.
"Good. Then off we go."
This time, the Alchemy Professor led Minerva to the grounds. They walked through fresh mud and puddle straight to the entrance gate. There were two people waiting for them on the other side.
"Good morning," said Minerva in a courteous manner.
Perhaps she shouldn't have broken the silence, she thought at once. Aberforth looked furious.
"Morning," he replied grumpily. "Took you long enough."
Professor Flamel stepped forward. The two wizards shook hands.
"There've been some unforeseen circumstances. But everything's sorted out now."
"Then why does she look so scared, dear?" asked Pernelle, nodding towards Minerva. "You didn't tell her, did you?"
"Tell me what?" the girl asked, glancing from one Flamel to the other.
"We're going to see Albus at St. Mungo's."
Minerva's jaw fell open. Many questions came to her mind. But nobody waited for her to voice them.
"We Apparate on the count of three," said Nicolas, grabbing the hands of his wife and Aberforth.
"Your hand, dear." The witch extended her arm to Minerva, who instinctively took it. "Don't you worry about the direction, we'll guide you there."
"One," said Professor Flamel, loud and clear. "Two. Three!"
And they all vanished.
The group reappeared at the entrance to a department store. At first glance, there seemed to be nothing special about the building. Same red brick walls, same boarded-up windows, a similar state of destruction and decay. However, an old signboard with the name Purge and Dowse Ltd. indicated that they were indeed standing at the entrance to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
"Morning," said Professor Flamel to a crack between two wooden boards. "We came to visit a patient. Could you let us in?"
There was no response and yet something had changed. Although there were no visual alterations, Minerva felt on her cheeks and the back of her hands that the protective charms were temporarily lifted. They were allowed to enter.
Nicolas Flamel stepped aside, allowing the ladies to enter first. He and Aberforth followed soon after.
They found themselves in an overcrowded area that, judging from the desk marked Inquiries, used to be a reception. Nowadays, the vast majority of the room was packed with makeshift beds and folding chairs, each occupied by at least one patient. Many witches and wizards had clear battle marks, most were blood-covered, and there were a lot of missing limbs. Despite the number of people in the vicinity, it was hard to spot the lime-green robes of a healer.
On the wall behind the used-to-be reception desk, there was a notice board where huge letters spelled Dark Spell Damage. The rest of the wall was covered in leaflets and posters containing security measures against Gellert Grindelwald and the Alliance. In the far end, there was also a large portrait labelled Dilys Derwent. The canvas was empty.
"What a mess," said the Alchemy professor with disapproval. "Aberforth, did they tell you which floor Albus is on?"
"Nope."
"There is the floor guide." Pernelle pointed with her hand. "I'd say we start with four."
They all followed her through the double doors and a long corridor lit with candlelight. On the walls, there were more paintings of celebrated Healers. Their occupants were snoozing and snoring in their frames, totally disinterested in all the commotion that was happening right under their noses.
"Aberforth?" Nicolas grabbed the younger wizard's sleeve to slow him down. He lowered his voice. "Give Albus a break today. Just this one time, yes?"
Aberforth's brows furrowed, forming deep lines on his forehead. His light blue eyes were piercing like ice.
"You suggesting I cannot behave myself?" he said slowly through tightly gritted teeth.
"I'm asking you to go easy on him. He did everything in his might to deserve it."
A roll of his eyes and a relatively loud snort suggested that Aberforth thought otherwise. He hated being treated like a schoolboy by his brother's friend. However, after giving a side-glance to Minerva, he refrained from further comments.
Unluckily for him, the girl interpreted the eye contact as encouragement to join the discussion.
"Mr. Aberforth? Professors? I know you didn't plan for this, but thank you for taking me with you."
The Alchemy teacher said nothing. His wife simply smiled at the girl. It remained for the young Dumbledore to answer.
"I refused to drag you along," he stated in a harsh voice. "But my opinion doesn't seem to amount to much, now, does it?"
Aberforth gave the Flamels a reproachful look. They ignored it.
Another door separated the corridor from a crowded staircase. As the group climbed consecutive flights of stairs, they passed the Creature-Induced Injuries Department, the Magical Diseases Department, and the Poisoning Department. Every door was open, which made it easy to peek inside. Just like on the ground floor, there were patients lying in the corridors. Healers were rushing from one person to another, trying to help as many people as they could. Many ran up and down the stairs, dark circles under their eyes. Beside a quick excuse me mumbled under their breaths, they paid no attention to the visitors.
The Spell Damage Department on the fourth floor looked different from the previous ones. The entrance door was closed, and in front of it there was a small gathering. However, not a single patient could be seen among the crowd.
The people occupying the hall were reporters. Most simply stood in one place, some were sitting down; one witch walked nervously in small circles. Aberforth made an ugly grimace, having spotted two wizards disguised as Armando Dippet, evidently having tried to sneak in disguised as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. To think how low one could stoop to see their name on the front page!
It wasn't long before one of the reporters recognized Flamel. A young man walked alongside the famous alchemist, shouting one question after another.
"Nicolas Flamel! What an honour! Are you here to visit Albus Dumbledore? Does it mean that the two of you are related? Or does a celebrity like yourself possess special privileges? Can I ask you a few questions on your way out?"
"But off, son!" growled Aberforth, forcing himself in-between Nicolas and the nosy reporter.
His height and posture alone were enough to discourage anyone else from approaching the Flamels. The wizard could be intimidating if he wanted to.
The next wing was heavily-guarded. They could see Aurors on both sides of the ward door and two more right before Albus Dumbledore's room. Aberforth's wand was double-checked before the group was all allowed to go through. This alone made Minerva realize how reckless she was to think that she could get here without anyone's help.
Aberforth entered first. He closed the door behind him.
The hospital room was bright and too spacious for a single patient. Everything looked clear, almost sterile. With artificial lighting and no windows, it was easy to lose a sense of time. In the far corner, the wizard noticed a single occupied bed surrounded by medical equipment. He moved closer to have a better view. On the bedside table, Aberforth found no private possessions, like a pen or a book; not even a get-well card. For a temporary living space, the place was remarkably impersonal.
At last, he moved his head to look at the patient, who was half-sitting against the headrest and observed his moves with evident curiosity.
"You look like hell."
Albus made a grimace that could just barely pass as a smile. His face was strained.
"Thank you, Aberforth. Your kind words always lift my spirits."
The younger Dumbledore dismissed the idea that his brother might be in pain. It was easier for him to assume that the wizard was simply not happy to see him.
"So, you expected I'd pay you a brotherly visit?"
"I cannot say I did, no."
There was a pause. The brothers simply stared at one another. Two pairs of blue eyes clashed: one bright but dimmed by fresh injuries, another sharp and full of fire. As the more hot-tempered wizard of the two, Aberforth was first to burst out whatever was on his mind.
"Why did you do this, you fool?"
Albus shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his voice was calm, even though a little sad.
"Because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."
Aberforth searched the wizard's face for signs of deception but found none. Even then, there had to be an ulterior motive for his brother's actions, he was sure of it.
"Our hero," said Aberforth sarcastically. Albus winced in disgust.
"You came after your friend's head to seek salvation, didn't you? To get a confirmation it wasn't you who killed our sister?"
It was a low blow, even for Aberforth. Any mention on the possibility that Albus was directly responsible for Ariana's death usually ended their arguments with his older brother on the losing side.
"No." Albus shook his head. This caught the young Dumbledore's attention. "I wished to correct my mistakes. First with Gellert, now with you − if you let me."
Aberforth gave a loud snort. He looked away and shook his head, trying to comprehend how unbelievably naive his brother was. As if he'd ever forgive him after such insignificant efforts to redeem himself.
"I brought you guests."
The sudden change of subject was not unexpected. The message was, however.
"Guests?"
Albus glanced at the door expectantly. His brother pushed on the knob. Pernelle's face appeared in the crack, with Nicolas's eyes peeking in just above her head.
"May we come in?" she asked, beaming at Albus.
The wizard's face softened. He encouraged them in. Soon later, he found himself in their embrace.
"Hello, dear! How are you feeling? Are you eating well? How long will they keep you here?"
"Slow down, dear." Nicolas put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Give him some time to breath."
Albus let out a chuckle that soon turned into a cough. He answered all the questions thrown at him while also exchanging pleasantries with his long-time friends.
Minerva couldn't see him at first, not with all the medical apparatus around his bed. It wasn't until Aberforth moved further into the room that she could take a good look at her teacher.
What she saw shocked her.
Professor Dumbledore's face was unnaturally pale, with visible cheekbones and a defined jawline. His hair was cut short, and his long, auburn beard had been shaved to the skin. His left cheek and half of his chin were covered in numerous scratches. The teacher's right forearm was bandaged, and his shirt failed to cover a nasty burn. The rest of his body was hidden under a blanket, so it was hard to determine whether he had any more injuries. Although one of the wizard's legs appeared larger than the other.
Dumbledore's expression changed to bewilderment at the sight of his student. It took him longer than usual to erase undesired emotions from his face.
Nicolas and Pernelle followed Albus's gaze.
"Oh yes, we brought you an extra."
With all the eyes on her, Minerva waved awkwardly, mouthing a silent hi.
The Transfiguration Professor greeted the girl with a nod.
Then, in a blink of an eye, he redirected his attention back to the Flamels.
"Remember the scholarship project we've been working on? How's Armando handling things?" asked Albus, looking up at Nicolas with renewed interest.
"He's… managing," replied the wizard, caught off guard by the rapid change of subject. "He wanted to come with us and tell you in person. Family first, I told him. He wasn't pleased, of course. But he agreed to wait a couple of days and visit you next time. Oh, and Elphias should be back by then."
"Don't you count on any more visitors," intercepted Aberforth. "My place won't run itself, now, will it?"
The conversation continued without Minerva's involvement. Quietly, she pondered on the fact that Professor Flamel couldn't have considered her a part of the family. His words made her realize that she was interrupting a very private meeting. Careful not to be seen, she slowly backed away from the crowd and leaned against the wall.
An hour ago, the girl would have given anything just to be there, in this very room. Now, she occupied its furthest corner, feeling like a fifth wheel.
"McGonagall, would you wait outside?" said the Alchemy teacher, his piercing eyes still fixed at Albus.
The witch left without a word but with a door slam that echoed around the ward. Far from the guards, she sat on the floor and covered her face with her hands. After several deep breaths, despite wanting to forget what had happened just moments ago, Minerva began to overanalyze it.
The girl was so excited when she figured out a way to pay Dumbledore a visit. This was a very welcome change after months of anxiety and worry. She put in so much work, mind, and effort. Yet, he hardly even looked at her. Was the professor displeased with her for showing up? Or just overwhelmed with the number of guests? Minerva couldn't help but guess. It disappointed her to no end that they didn't even have a chance to say a few words to one another. While angry with Flamel for basically throwing her out of the room, she was more irritated with herself for letting him do so.
At the same time, a part of her wondered what else was there to expect from this brief meeting. Dumbledore did not ask her to come, nor did he expect her to. Even though she now wished she'd saved herself the trouble, Minerva knew she simply had to come. She couldn't not know what was going on any longer; it was becoming unbearable. Although their encounter was short and unsatisfying, at least she learned from Dumbledore's conversations with the others that her teacher was going to make a full recovery.
A pat on the shoulder made her jump. Deep in thoughts, Minerva was unaware of her surroundings. Slightly confused, she looked up into a pair of warm, brown eyes.
"He wants to see you," said Pernelle, smiling down at her. "We'll wait right here."
The girl did not move. She did not understand.
The older witch gestured in the direction of Albus's room. Through the open door, Minerva could see Professor Flamel and Aberforth give Professor Dumbledore a quick hug. They went right past her to stand next to Pernelle.
Minerva was rooted to the spot. Her mind drew a blank. She did not expect this. She was not ready.
It wasn't until Mrs. Flamel gave her a push on the back that Minerva finally moved forward. The door clicked shut behind her, and just like that the girl stood face-to-face with the one person she did not believe to see again that day.
"Hello, Minerva."
Her dry throat made it difficult to utter words.
"Professor."
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Despite having dozens of questions, the witch didn't know where to start. Her teacher was the first to speak, although not in the way she would prefer.
"Nicolas told me what you did."
Minerva panicked.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to steal or destroy anything. I'd even put back your protective enchantments. I would, I swear!"
The girl had to make Professor Dumbledore understand. She would never touch his things without permission. Just how she wouldn't break into his office if she had another choice.
To her great astonishment, the professor chuckled.
"Oh, I bet you would."
Minerva flinched her head back. As far as she knew, there was nothing humorous about their conversation.
"I'm glad you came," said Dumbledore in a soft voice. "Although, had I known I'd have guests, I would have changed into my fancy pyjamas."
This earned him a short laugh.
"I bet you get many visitors," said Minerva, remembering the small crowd that gathered in front of the main door.
"Good thing you're not into gambling. It just so happens that you're the first ones." In response to his student's confused look, he added, "Only relatives are allowed to see me − and, as you witnessed yourself, anyone who accompanies them. Security measures, they say. I'm not complaining, though. I'd rather spend my days alone than surrounded by journalists, being asked the same insensitive questions over and over again."
A note of bitterness could be heard in his tone.
"You must be getting pretty lonely, then."
"I must admit, it does get boring sometimes." The change of adjective wasn't lost on Minerva, but she saw no reason to delve deeper. "Tell me how you've been doing."
Thinking hard, the young witch recalled an anecdote or two from the previous week. She chose to recount only the stories that she found funny and light-hearted. Like the one where she won her second match in the Inter-House Wizarding Chess Championships that replaced Quidditch. Or when Hermes had a girlfriend, and she and Hagrid were playing with the wild owl. There was also her favourite, where the Gryffindors threw a huge party in celebration of Dumbledore's victory over Grindelwald. The Transfiguration Professor listened with interest, reacting only when she drew a breath.
"Everyone calls you a hero," the girl said with admiration. "I can't thank you enough for what you did, but I'm not sure if I should congratulate you."
"Please don't."
The professor's voice was surprisingly sharp. He sounded bitter, disgusted even. It gave Minerva a pause. How could it be that his greatest win brought Dumbledore distress? Did she say something wrong? She had no idea how to react, so she produced a smile to hide her confusion. But then her face became all tense again, once she remembered that the wizard's recent accomplishments had a very high price.
"What is it, Minerva?"
Her worry must have shown on her face long enough for her unusually perceptive teacher to notice. Her lips tightened so hard that they wouldn't shake even if they wanted to.
"You could have been killed," she said quietly, tears forming in her eyes.
How many sleepless nights, skipped meals, and overworked hours were screaming through this stare. He could almost see them all, a clear reflection in the darkened green eyes. Up until this point, Albus had no idea of the impact his decisions had on the girl before him.
The intensity of her stare forced the wizard to look away. Whether not addressing Minerva's concerns or feelings when he carried out his plans was the right choice, he was not sure anymore. Old habits die hard, said a sarcastic voice in his head that sounded very much like Aberforth.
"I'm sorry I made you worry," he stated in barely more than a whisper.
Minerva simply nodded, as her voice betrayed her.
Before she came to St. Mungo's, she meant to tell Professor Dumbledore how much she wanted to see him. How glad she was that he was alive. To ask why he left her with nothing more than a letter. Whether he was ever planning to come back. But seeing Dumbledore as tired and fragile as she'd ever remembered him, she did not see a point to bring this up now.
It took her far too long to realize this, but with every sentence he uttered, Professor Dumbledore was slumping a little lower in his bed. His face, which initially appeared lighter than usual due to the lack of beard and moustache, was now unmistakingly pale. The conversation was tiring him. It was high time for Minerva to leave.
"I guess I'll see you at school?"
Albus's gaze lowered but only partially from exhaustion. He pondered in his mind on the implications of this particular question.
"I cannot promise that you will," he said slowly. "After I'm discharged, I still have some errands to run. However, I will do my best to be there for your graduation ceremony."
"Right."
Unable to hide her disappointment, the witch turned to leave. "Please take care."
Minerva made a half-step towards the door and then stopped in her tracks. She couldn't just walk away, not now that there was no guarantee he'd return to his teaching position. She might never see Professor Dumbledore again. In this case, the witch had one last request.
She slowed her breathing to reduce nerves but still hesitated to make eye contact. Doing her best to sound confident, she asked with a shaky, awkward voice,
"Can I hug you goodbye?"
The professor blinked. He did not respond.
Even though the wizard must have heard her loud and clear, he made no indication that he was going to answer. The passing seconds stretched out indefinitely.
Stupid,thought Minerva. She immediately regretted posing the question. Post factum, she was practically sure he'd say no. He had no reason to react otherwise. No matter how jealous she might be of the Flamels.
When she was about to withdraw the offer, something changed. Wincing in pain, Dumbledore moved up in his bed. He spread out his healthy arm.
Minerva's hug was soft and delicate. She was extra careful not to cause him any harm, which he appreciated greatly. Being unable to hold her back, Albus gently rubbed her back instead.
"Get well soon," she said after letting go.
They smiled at each other before the girl left him to get some well-deserved rest.
Behind the door, the Flamels and Aberforth were waiting for her. On their way back, Minerva was too excited to notice the questioning looks they were giving her. She couldn't wait to talk to someone about where she'd been and what she'd been doing.
Even the fact that Augusta would kill her for having lied failed to dishearten her.