While the first half of this chapter is a light and fun easy read, the latter half speaks of violence and brutality of a sexual nature. If you are someone who is negatively affected by those things, apply your own judgment before reading any further.

Standing on the roof outside Ravenclaw tower mending a badly damaged section of the parapet, McGonagall looks around, surprised to hear Madame Hooch calling her name as if by loudspeaker. Walking to the opposite side of the roof, she removes her glasses and peers out over the training grounds with her robes snapping violently around her ankles.

Madame Hooch is standing several hundred feet below and pointing with exaggerated gestures at a man standing immediately to her right. McGonagall squints in momentary disbelief that fades just as rapidly as it arrived. She waves back in the same exaggerated fashion, making her understanding clear. Then, stepping back from the edge, she turns to speak to Barnabas Blackbuckle, the head of her AMRS detail. "I'm sorry, Mr. Blackbuckle, I'm needed down below."

The blonde man shrugs. "It's nearly lunchtime. You are overdue for a break Headmistress. I'll keep working."

McGonagall lifts her gaze to the dark storm clouds looming overhead as her mind registers an increase in the intensity of the wind. "Yes, please do. I want to get this open section of the roof repaired before the storm begins. If the castle starts taking on water… well, that will give us a whole new host of problems to deal with. You shouldn't be up here by yourself, though. I will send someone up to replace me. Please be careful in the meantime."

"Yes ma'am."

Stowing her wand in an inside pocket of her robes, McGonagall retrieves her Comet 180 from behind an already mended section of parapet, steps back to the edge overlooking the training grounds, takes her mount and glides effortlessly out into open space.

Safely standing on firm ground in under ten seconds, she nods to the Hogwarts flying instructor. "Thank you, Rolanda."

"You're welcome." Madame Hooch nods her acceptance and walks away without a backward glance, eager to return to her own work before the deluge begins.

Turning to her visitor, Minerva asks, "Da, what are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too." Her father laughs even though she can detect a faint trace of annoyance in his voice. "You invited me."

Already on the move, she carries her broom in one hand and offers him her other arm. "I did?"

"You said I should come see you for a few hours this weekend."

"Ah, yes, I did. And when you didn't respond either way… yes or no. I assumed that meant you wouldn't be coming," She pats his hand. "but no matter. You're here now. Are you hungry?"

"I am. By the way, getting in here was not easy. Some black-haired lad with a rather unflattering scar on his left cheek gave me a very bad time of it when I tried to step onto the grounds."

"Archibald McGovern. He's on loan from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad… and don't hold it against him. It's not supposed to be easy to get in here. He didn't know to expect you, and that's my fault, not his."

They only make it halfway to the training ground entrance before they are met by Professor Sinistera, who offers them both perfunctory greetings as she turns her eyes to the darkening sky. "Ma'am, Rev. McGonagall, it's good to see you again sir."

Robert nods but before he can say anything in return, the astrology teacher gives her full attention to Minerva. "I can see you are on your way someplace else, so I'll make this quick. The telescope's lenses are busted."

Minerva sighs. "Alright. How many of them?" She removes a small leather-bound book of parchment from the pocket of her robes along with a quill and makes quick notes to herself.

"In the main telescope… all of them. In the few smaller telescopes that we have available to be loaned to students in need, nearly all of them. Those that aren't broken are still going to need some serious realignment."

"I will send an owl to the glass blower asking for several new cases, and that he come out here personally to deliver them so that he can make the necessary adjustments. Fair enough?"

Sinistera smirks. "I'm afraid that will be rather difficult Professor. Mr. Cleary was killed three weeks ago. We're going to need a new supplier."

Minerva must work to keep from groaning. "Voldemort?"

The astrology teacher nods and then adds, "or one of his followers."

"Didn't Mr. Cleary have two small children?"

"Yes, he did. They won't be old enough to be here at Hogwarts for a few years yet."

Minerva shakes her head sadly. "Okay, thank you, Aurora. I will take care of it. Check back with me in a few days."

"Will do, Headmistress." Sinistera waves and steps away.

Minerva and her father continue on their way and are just about to step into the corridor directly outside the transfiguration department when they are approached by Hagrid.

"Pardon me fir interruptin' ye Professor; good tae see ye sir."

The reverend nods. "You too."

"What is it Hagrid. Walk with us please."

"Yes Ma'am." He says, deliberately shortening his stride to accommodate hers. "Professor Vector said I should check with you first, in case there's something else you'd rather me be doin' that's more important… I know it's about to rain and ye all are working fast and furious on the roof, but if it's alright with ye, I'd like to turn the soil in me garden a'fore the rain comes. If ye think we will still be here come October, then it's time I was plantin' the pumpkins – unless you want me up on the roof. I will go right now if you do."

"Hagrid, I appreciate the offer, and please don't take this the wrong way. No offense is meant, but I do not think the roof is the best place for you at present. It is in very poor condition, and you are rather large. If you think your time is better spent preparing the pumpkin patch, then please, feel free to do so."

The half-giant grins behind his bushy black beard. "I don't even want to think about Halloween here at the school with all the students walking around with no spooky Jack-O'lanterns to light up the halls. It just wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be Hogwarts."

"Well then, you had best start planting. I want to see 500 of the fattest pumpkins you have ever grown in your life come Halloween."

Hagrid beams. "Yes ma'am! Any idea yet who's going to be teaching care o'magical creatures?"

Minerva stops walking and frowns up at him.

"I'm not rushing ye Professor. I'm just askin."

"I'm frowning because I thought you would be teaching the class. I assumed you would want your old post back now that things are going to be returning to normal around here. Do you not want the job?"

Hagrid pats his own head in surprise. "Uh, well, ye bet I do! I just thought you would want someone a little…" He squints uncomfortably. "less like me."

"You did a good job with the class. No matter what Draco Malfoy said. Just promise me one thing Hagrid…" She points at him like she's lecturing a misbehaving child. "No more dragons… and you are not to overfeed the blast–ended skrewts, the fire crabs, or any other creature that is combustible… Is that clear?"

Happy as a lark, Hagrid declares, "No ma'am… Eh… I mean, yes ma'am. I'll be on me best behavior! I give me word!"

"Good enough then. Where is Mr. Filch? I haven't seen him all day."

"He's in the library helping Madame Pence. Loads of books are going to need to be replaced. It looks like some death eaters had a book burnin' party in there. Somehow, they busted into the restricted section."

Minerva presses her lips together to keep from grinding her teeth. "There were books, particularly in that section, that can never be replaced. Some of them are several hundred years old. Do you have any more bad news for me?"

"Nah, but Professor, I know we're nowhere near ready for the seventh-floor repairs yet but, when you do have a clear path into the head office, I want to be allowed to go in there before ye do ma'am. I haven't been up there in the last year. Couldn't bring me self to go. I don't think it's likely that Professor Snape treated Professor Dumbledore's office with the respect he shoulda. If he's made a mess of it, I want to go in and clean it up. I don't want ye to have to see… whatever he's done to the place. I just hope he didn't damage any of Professor Dumbledore's things."

Reaching up high, past the tip of her conical hat, she pats his shoulder gently. "Thank you, Hagrid. That's very kind of you. Hopefully it won't be too bad. You don't honestly think I let Professor Snape take up residence in that office before removing all of Albus's most prized possessions, do you?"

"I should've thought of that. Course ye didn't Ma'am. I'll let ye be on your way. I've got me a pumpkin patch to see to."

Hagrid strides away humming and as they pass her classroom Minerva's soft chuckle is heard only by her father when Hogwarts' mammoth groundskeeper begins singing loudly, and more than just a little off key.

Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man
Washed his face in a fryin' pan
Combed his hair with a wagon wheel
And died with a toothpick in his heel…

Laughing, Robert declares, "You certainly made him happy."

"If only they were all that easy to please."

Just before reaching her office, they pass a group of men at work mending a badly cracked section of flooring. "Gentlemen, I would like you all to stop what you're doing for the moment and venture up onto the roof of the Ravenclaw tower. The storm is approaching fast, and I had to leave Mr. Blackbuckle up there on his own. If he is to finish mending the hole in the roof before we begin taking on water, he's going to need reinforcements. Once that is done, please have a break. After you are all properly fed and watered, you may return here."

One of the four men bows quietly without a word, a second declares, "Right away, Madame." and they all step over the ropes surrounding the damaged area and head for the nearest exit; one of them whispering, not quite softly enough, "She does like to give orders, doesn't she?"

The man who verbally complied with her directive smacks his annoyed coworker on the back of the head and hisses, "Shut yer hole, ye eejit! She's the woman in charge. That's her job. Yers is tae dae whatever she bloody well tells ye wit a smile on yer ruddy face!"

The reverend studies his daughter's face, waiting for her reaction, but Minerva steps into her office without so much as a smirk, as though she hadn't heard a word.

"Hello Pomona." She greets the plump witch seated behind her desk and is momentarily surprised to find Kingsley Shacklebolt seated in one of her guest chairs. "Good afternoon, Minister."

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall."

"I hope you haven't been waiting long sir."

"Not at all. I've only just arrived. Professor Sprout was going to send someone to let you know, and now you've saved her the trouble."

"What brings you by?"

"I need just a moment of your time, if you can spare it."

"Of course, Minister." She turns to the herbology professor. "Take a break Pomona. Go get yourself a bite to eat, and after that, have a kip for an hour or two. You've been going strong since before dawn."

Professor Sprout chuckles with relief. "I'm going to go before something happens to make you change your mind. I could do with a nap. Hello Reverend, lovely to see you again. I know I'm about a week late, but happy birthday sir."

"Thank you, Pomona dear. It's good to see you too."

Sprout holds up an index finger. "Before I go, Minerva, you have a stack of messages. Lucius Malfoy called… twice. He wants a word. When he called for the second time, I reminded him that it is the weekend, and told him that you would call him back during normal business hours come Monday. It did not sound as though he were in a good mood."

Minerva deadpans, "The day that Lucius Malfoy wakes up with a smile on his face, it will be because Hell has finally frozen over, and he no longer has to worry about what is going to become of his immortal soul when he leaves this life."

Sprout giggles. "I did refrain from telling him to go sit on a peacock egg… but it was difficult."

"I appreciate your restraint."

"Your nephew called. I'm sorry, I forgot to ask which one. He sounded like he was at his wits end." She reads from a message slip. "The baby won't stop crying. Please help. Mitzi unavailable."

Minerva sighs. "It's alright. I know which one. I'll call him back."

Sprout shuffles through the message slips. "There are several other messages that can be dealt with at your convenience. Logan also called. She would like you to know that she is finally home from work. She said she feels like she's been there since the 12th of never… whatever that means. She doesn't want you to worry, she's turning off her phone and going to bed. Yes, she will eat something before going to sleep, and she will talk to you tomorrow."

Minerva nods. "The 12th of never is a reference to an old Johnny Mathis tune. It basically means, 'for all time.' Anybody else?"

"That Mr. McKinnon fellow called. He said, just to say hello. I told him you probably wouldn't have time to get in touch until this evening at the earliest. He said that was fine. He did ask how this 'old shack 'was coming along. At least I think he did. He kept pausing to yell at somebody in the background." She giggles again. "He was very polite to me, but the more irritated that man gets, the thicker his Scottish brogue becomes."

"Yes, I'm aware." Minerva intones dryly. "Aurora just told me that we need new lenses for nearly all the telescopes. She also informed me that Mr. Cleary is no longer with us."

"No. He and many others, I'm afraid."

"We will have to find a new supplier for the telescopes."

"I do know that his younger brother, Aquarius Cleary was in the process of learning the craft. His apprentice, I think. You should send an owl and find out if he's running things now."

"Thank you. I will."

"I finally got into greenhouse three. I think it might be best if we just tear it down and start over again. The roof is gone, the walls are falling, the floor is badly damaged. All the plants are dead. If you're making lists of things we need, and I know you are, I am going to need funds and approval to order new pots, seedlings, soil, and replacement gardening tools. I also need a new pair of dragonhide gloves, knee pads, and a new batch of test tubes."

"New gloves? Already? You were so happy with the pair you just got."

"I know. I'm sorry. I was trying to clean a mess up off the floor. My attention was elsewhere. Without realizing it, I put my hand in a puddle of snake venom. By the time I got the glove off my hand, the venom had eaten clean through."

Minerva frowns. "Were you injured?"

"No. I'm alright, but only because I had the presence of mind to double up. I was wearing an older pair of gloves underneath. It really was quite nasty in there."

"Enough venom to eat through your glove? Mr. Potter mentioned that Voldemort ordered the snake to kill Professor Snape. I'm only guessing, but that must've been the greenhouse where it happened."

"I'd say so. That's where Professor Snape's body was found. I found several scales and a rather large snakeskin in one corner of the floor. I collected as much of the venom as possible. I've never personally encountered venom quite this potent. It completely destroyed my glove in less than a minute."

"She was no ordinary snake."

"Yes, I know. We shall have to be extremely cautious with the venom. I had to store it in vials forged with dragon's breath and fortified with an unbreakable spell. The regular vials won't hold it. It'll make good stock for the potions laboratory, but I'd say teacher-use only. I do not think we should allow students below NEWT level courses to even be in the same room with it. It's entirely too corrosive. I wanted to collect more of the scales, but when I went out to the cottage to ask after the snake's remains, Hagrid had already begun burning it."

Minerva sighs. "Remind me to go down there and make sure he didn't collect any of the fangs for souvenirs."

"Oh dear, I didn't think of that. Yes, he may have."

"Anything else?"

"That's all for now. I'll be back around 4:00 PM."

Minerva waits for Sprout to pass through the office door and then closes and locks it behind her.

As she takes the high-backed chair behind her desk, her father takes the remaining guest chair. She offers a brief introduction. Minister Shacklebolt, my father, Rev. Robert McGonagall. Da, this is the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt."

The two men eye each other with polite curiosity and exchange quiet handshakes.

Getting down to business, Minerva turns the bulk of her attention to her former student. "What's the problem sir."

Shacklebolt chuckles. "Who said there was one?"

"That's all I have this week… Problems to be solved."

"Well, you must be doing an outstanding job. This place looks noticeably better already."

"We've got a long way to go yet… A long, long way."

"Then I won't take up any more of your time that I absolutely have to. Something curious came across my desk this morning and I wasn't entirely comfortable sending word by owl."

Minerva raises an eyebrow.

"It seems that a number of years ago…" He clears his throat and pauses to open the file folder that is tucked beneath his left arm. Riffling through pages, he double checks his facts. "Nearly 27 years ago… Professor Dumbledore made a request in writing. Along with his request, he turned in a number of composite sketches to the Ministry's Apprehension\Detention Department. He wanted to be personally and privately notified if anyone closely resembling any of the males featured in the sketches was ever detained. He refused to specify the reason for this request. He did, however, state that, if for any reason he was unavailable, you should be apprised of this matter in his stead."

Minerva squints even though her pulse rate has already begun to climb. When Shacklebolt half rises from his seat and offers her five rolled up pieces of parchment, she reaches for them hesitantly. Pushing her glasses up from the bridge of her nose, she unrolls them, and briefly scans the top sheet. It's Dumbledore's written request classified and stamped with an official Ministry seal. The sight of his familiar slanted, yet elegant penmanship, pulls at her emotions. To keep them in check, she turns the page, knowing that what lies depicted on the pages beneath will evoke a very different kind of emotion.

She isn't wrong. The four sketches included with Dumbledore's formal request are terribly familiar, and they evoke enough anger, dread, and repulsion, to flood the back of her throat with a bitter bile that burns. Still, she forces herself to look at each one carefully and leave them face up on her desk. By the time she lays the fourth one down, her hands are trembling. When she meets Shacklebolt's eyes again, the pain visible in hers alarms him.

Quietly, barely above a whisper, he asks, "Professor? Are you alright?"

"No. I am not." She presses her lips together tightly.

"What is this about? Do you recognize these sketches?"

She nods. "I drew them. They were kept in a personal journal of sorts. I didn't know it, but Dumbledore must've made copies. He wanted these men caught nearly as much as I do."

For the second time in less than a week, she casts an anti-eavesdropping spell around the perimeter of her office. When Shacklebolt raises an eyebrow in response, she takes a deep breath to steady herself before she begins.

"In the early seventies, I was involved with The Order…"

"I'm aware."

"Please don't interrupt me. I'll never get through this if you do Kingsley. Just let me talk."

Taken even more by surprise at the use of his given name than by her stricken demeanor, he nods. "Yes Ma'am."

"Back then, I was much more heavily involved than I have been in recent years. I was actively using my animagus form to do reconnaissance for The Order. We became aware that death eaters were actively looking for magical children who were rumored to be empathic. They wanted to utilize the abilities of these children for themselves. They wanted to corrupt and commandeer such abilities in the service of Voldemort."

Shacklebolt starts to ask, "To actively spy on people's emotions?" but then he catches himself, remembering her request that he not speak until she is done.

"In late 1971, a few days before Christmas, I witnessed the abduction of one such child. In an attempt to spare the child any harm, I resumed my human form and then made my presence known as I attempted to protect the boy. I knew I was outnumbered. I couldn't fight them all and protect the boy simultaneously. So, I chose to provoke them, and allow myself to be taken along with the boy. I fully expected to be hit with a stunning, or a binding spell. I was not wrong. However, once they had me, I was not expecting the use of a paralytic drug that was somehow amplified and made strong enough to hold even witches and wizards in its grip. I was injected repeatedly. I spent the better part of three weeks in captivity before the drugs they used to subdue me finally wore off enough for me to transform and go find the boy. I got us out. However, because of the altered nature of the drugs, once I transformed, I lacked the ability to resume my human form for quite some time. I did get the boy to safety. It turned out, he was not empathic in the least. He was taken solely on the suspicion that his great grandfather was rumored to have been an empath. They had no proof. They tormented the poor child. He was eight years old."

She breathes heavily.

"I eventually made my way back here. Albus found me. He took me away from the castle, which was fairly easy for him to do since we were midway through the Christmas holiday. He stayed with me and nursed me until I could resume my human form and tell him everything that had happened."

She falls silent for a long moment before asking, "You think you have one of these men in custody?"

Shacklebolt's somber voice is barely above a whisper when he answers, "Possibly three of them. They are all older, of course, but if any of them are the men in your sketches, then they came in with the most recent batch of death eaters. I assume you would like them to be prosecuted for kidnapping, or at the very least, unlawful detainment, and assault."

Shacklebolt is nothing short of stunned when she shakes her head in the negative. "Professor?"

"I will do all I can to help you prosecute them for what they have done this year, and for what they did to the boy in 1971. However, I do not want them prosecuted for anything that happened to me while I was in their custody that year."

Robert McGonagall starts to speak, and his daughter holds up a hand to silence him. "I am not the least bit concerned with what people will think of me, and I do have ample proof of their crimes, but I cannot offer it. Not without revealing something I do not want this man… She holds up one of the sketches, putting it on display. "to ever know."

Shacklebolt takes the sketch from her trembling hand and studies it closely before he speaks again. "This one may be one of the men we have in custody, and, if he's telling the truth, his name may surprise you. He claims he is…"

"His name will not surprise me. I know who he is. Of the four of them, he is the only one whose identity I am 100% certain of, and I do not care if he never steps foot outside of Azkaban prison again. Even if he never feels sunlight on his face again, even if he rots there, he must never know the secret I am about to entrust to you."

Shacklebolt nods.

She fixes her dark eyes upon him. "It does not leave this room, Minister."

He stares back without flinching. "You have my solemn word."

Much to her relief, Minerva's hands finally stop trembling. She raises her chin a fraction of an inch. "I have a daughter. She was born prematurely in early August of '72."

Instantly understanding, Shacklebolt inhales deeply and covers his mouth and nose with his big hands. For a long time, he leans forward in his chair with his elbows resting on his knees and stares at the floor without speaking.

None of them speak.

After more than three full minutes of grappling with the weight of the truth, Shacklebolt brings his somber eyes back to hers. "Professor, I am so terribly sorry."

"You don't need to be. There is no reason for you to apologize. You had nothing to do with it… And my daughter is the greatest joy of my life."

He smiles sadly. "I'm glad for that, but the way she came to be, that's an atrocity that should never happen to any woman."

"Agreed. It should never happen to anyone. I will do all I can to help you see that he stays behind bars, but none of them are to ever know that my daughter exists."

Shacklebolt nods. "Do you think you can come in and make a formal identification."

Minerva nods. "I can, at least as far as that one is concerned. The others… possibly not. Much of what I remember is out of focus - disjointed. Whatever they injected me with was beyond potent. Much of the time, I couldn't move. Not so much as a finger. I couldn't speak or scream. I couldn't even blink or swallow. There were times when I could not open my eyes. I could barely manage to breathe. More than once, I nearly choked to death on my own saliva. They would not let me go. They would not let me die. They paid me just enough attention to keep me going. Even in the moments when they left me alone, it was impossible to think clearly… but I will do my best."

He picks up the three remaining sketches as he struggles to find a way to ask his next question gently and tactfully. "The four of them, they were all… complicit."

Minerva grits her teeth in an effort to keep from retching. "They were."

Shacklebolt closes his eyes, trying to swallow his own disgust for a long moment before he turns over the first sketch again. "How can you be certain that this one…eh… Forgive me… I'm not quite certain how to delicately ask such a question."

"If you know his name, then you know who his father was."

"I do, at least, if he's been truthful about his identity."

"What do you know about his father's abilities?"

"As a wizard?"

Minerva crosses her arms over her chest. "Yes."

"Everything I was taught here, at school. He had nearly unparalleled strength and ability as a wizard. He was dark, and believed in a wizard's right to supremacy… It's widely thought that he may have been a seer. He was captured and brought to justice in '45, but if he truly did have a son, it's not common knowledge. At least not yet anyway. It's also rumored that he and Professor D…"

Minerva shakes her head and holds up a hand to halt the Minister's words. "You are aware that it is not impossible for gay men to father children. It happens all the time."

"Yes. Of course."

"He was there. Thankfully, my daughter gets her looks from the McGonagall clan but, they probably have at least similar skeletal structures. She has his posture. She walks… carries herself in the same proud manner as he did. There's something almost regal about the way she holds herself."

"Forgive me, please Professor, but that's not a lot to base such certainty on."

Minerva nods and points to the sketch still in his hand. "I know that, but it's not just a rumor, Minister Shacklebolt. His father was, indeed, a seer, which is just one of the many reasons it was so difficult to capture him. My daughter is… She's an empath. That's not something she inherited from anyone in the McGonagall family."

He's finally able to grasp the reason for her certainty. "And it's just a short step down from seer to empath."

"Precisely."

"Well, today, he appears to be about 75 years old."

"He's 70. If not, he will be later this year. He was born in 1928. He would've been 44 in 1972."

"I'll admit, there is a noticeable resemblance between the father and his supposed son. Except, he calls himself Gerry, not Gell…"

"Minister, Gellert is the Hungarian equivalent of Gerald."

Shacklebolt groans. "Junior is crowing about his parentage to anyone and everyone, regardless of whether they want to listen or not. You're telling me that he's not just a deranged egotistical slug who crawled forth from The Dead Sea. He really is the son of Gellert Grindelwald?"

"Is he deranged? If so, that's a new development. He certainly wasn't when I crossed paths with him. I'm fairly certain you could have classified him as a sociopath… But he wasn't clinically insane. He was just an animal who had been convinced of his own superiority - an animal who…" She pauses, weighing her next words. "became physically aroused at the sight of blood."

Shacklebolt cringes in disgust.

"If he's trying to convince people that he's non compos mentis, he's likely bucking for an insanity defense. Twenty-seven years ago, he knew exactly what he was doing to me, he didn't make a single move without malice of forethought. No one held a wand to his head. He actively chose to do what he did."

"Do you know what became of the young boy you rescued."

"His memory was modified so that he wouldn't have to live with the hideousness of what happened to him. He's 35 years old. He has four children, and a soon-to-be ex-wife, but at least his life is his own."

"Does he remember you, what you did for him?"

"Not at all."

Shacklebolt removes his hat and rubs his bald head. "And to think, I came in here planning to ask you if you would consider calling The Order back together again. If I'm not mistaken, you are the surviving member with the most seniority."

"For what purpose? To help round up all the death eaters Lucius Malfoy turned on?"

The minister nods his head.

Robert McGonagall shakes his. "Nae, absolutely not!"

Minerva smirks. "I'll call them in. I will convene a meeting and see what I can do about adding some new names to our ranks in place of those we've lost, but my father is right. I should not be responsible for actively tracking them down. Firstly, I don't have time. At the moment, that is not my priority. Secondly, If, by some chance, I were to come across the one of the four that you may not have in custody, I am not certain that I could act objectively." She is silent for a time before continuing. "When… When would you like me to come in?"

Shacklebolt shrugs, feeling helpless. "Tomorrow… Afternoon? You choose. I will make myself available, whenever it's convenient for you."

"It's hardly convenient, but I'll be there – tomorrow at 2:00 PM."

He rises to his feet. Reaching out with the intent to pat her shoulder, he second guesses himself and wraps his knuckles lightly against the corner of her desk. "I'll make arrangements for complete privacy."

"That would be appreciated."

He stops at the door, his hand on the knob. "I'll see you tomorrow Professor."

No sooner than the minister is out of sight, Minerva is up and reaching out for the cloaked door to her private chambers. Leaving it open in her wake, she crosses her small living space at a run, hurls herself over the threshold of her private lavatory, and wretches in the sink, unable to make it any further into the room.

The small amount of breakfast still in her stomach, comes up easily enough. After that, she spends the bulk of the next ten minutes coughing up nothing more than bile until the dry heaves set in.

When she's too weak to stand at the sink any longer, Robert is there to shut off to the sink tap, lower the lid on the toilet seat, and guide her gently to it, where she collapses, and tries desperately to focus on the feel of his warm hand against her back, as opposed to the insidious kaleidoscope of dark memories in her head.