Chapter 8.5) The Plan
Selected Listening: Cornish Pixies- John Williams
**Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading this far! Please remember to R&R. I love hearing from readers. Happy Thanksgiving!***
Dumbledore listened patiently as Minerva and Pomfrey told him the story of Anastasia stealing from the medicine cabinet and siphoning prescriptions off to the young Slytherin. While he didn't quite understand Anastasia's concerns before, hearing the women discuss the severity of the Malfoy boy's condition brought things full circle. If their fates truly had been intertwined, Anastasia would do whatever she could to keep the boy alive, even he had been cruel to her.
"So?" Minerva asked, bringing him back from his cloud of thoughts. She had been stern with him since he placed Anastasia back on the Gryffindor team. Albus remembered her storming up to his office to lecture him only a month ago.
"All that fuss last year about how she couldn't be in quidditch and now what? What was all of that for? I thought you were hell-bent on keeping her identity a secret."
"I have already enacted a plan that should help us remedy all the problems you described. It is only a matter of time."
"You mean before Malfoy has such an extreme asthma attack on the playing field that they both are hospitalized?" Pomfrey asked. Albus ignored her panic.
"Not quite. The truth is, none of us can resolve this situation as we'd like. The Malfoys can by giving us permission for treatment. That is why I placed Anastasia on the quidditch team this year. All will be revealed in time," he said firmly.
"In time?" Minerva stepped forward. He looked down at his papers, and then back up at her. "Albus—"
"Narcissa is a vein and selfish creature. I believe she is to the point of doing something desperate. If both children are playing quidditch at the same time, it is more likely their conditions will exacerbate, and an accident will occur. She will not allow her son to die."
Minerva watched her ancient friend's expression, his lips pursed together in a fine line, hands folded over his books and papers in a solemn "this discussion is over" manner. Madam Pomfrey, sensing the palpable tension, saw herself out quickly. When they heard the front entrance seal shut, Minerva continued.
"Albus, I know you were hesitant to take Anastasia as an infant. I know you had to learn to love her, and I know it still takes effort for you—"
At this accusation, Albus jumped from his repose.
"On this one matter, Minerva, you couldn't be more wrong. I have always loved Anastasia, but like everyone else I ever loved, I am afraid she will vanish as soon as I hold her too close—"
"Oh Albus, that's—"
"I fear I am cursed to lose everyone I love, nothing has happened in my life to prove otherwise, and I cannot…will not…endure that again. Not Anastasia," he said, eyes glistening.
"Then Albus, why are you placing her in a situation that could likely kill her?" Minerva asked desperately.
"If you must bleed it out of me, Minerva, her godmother simply will not stand for it. It will force her to act."
"Godmother? Who on Earth is her godmother and why hasn't she shown herself—"
Albus stared at Minerva, expectant of her realization, but upon realizing she had none, replied, "Is it that difficult to piece together, Minerva? Who else would have the power to save Anastasia's life the night of her birth? The only person Holly trusted outside of the order?"
Minerva stared blearily around the room as if she had been stunned by a flashbulb, and fell back into an open armchair, hands over her open mouth. Albus continued.
"If Narcissa sees Anastasia succeeding on the quidditch field, becoming a well-recognized witch of talent, then she will crave that relationship even more. She may even overlook the perils of revealing information surrounding Anastasia's birth to reestablish that connection and bring Anastasia into magical society."
Minerva stood frozen as if she had been slapped in the face. All this time, she had raised Anastasia as her own. Now, only to find out, the girl had a mother figure waiting in the wings.
"By society, you mean the pureblood aristocracy? Albus, is that what you want? We've already seen how it's torn apart the Black family, your family, tens of families. Is that how you really want Anastasia raised? It's against everything you've taught her. Everything I've taught her—"
"What choice do we have, Minerva? Let her die? If Narcissa's selfishness keeps Anastasia alive, even if it means nurturing her in an environment that isn't perfect, isn't it still worth it to have her with us?"
Minerva folded her arms over her chest and slumped down into the chair, "Isn't perfect? It's downright abusive! I don't approve, not at all. Anastasia has survived this long. She will be better off without Narcissa's guidance."
Dumbledore frowned and spoke, his voice strained.
"Minerva, I believe that this is the right thing to do. For Anastasia and the boy's safety. You seem to have little faith in Anastasia's capabilities to follow what we've taught her."
Minerva sighed exasperatedly and stood to tower over him.
"She's twelve, Albus, she's not an adult. She's still impressionable. On her birthday, she asked me about her mother, and I could tell her nothing. She wants information, and I am not knowledgeable enough about her origins to provide it."
Albus set his expression and folded his hands once more.
"Then maybe, we should stop being the selfish ones and step out of the way."
Minerva buttoned her lip and raised her finger above her head as if she were to say something damning to her dearest friend, who gave her a child to care for and could so seamlessly rip her away. Her whole body trembled with fury, but instead of saying what was on her mind, she whipped her finger down like a slash, exploding the pile of papers on Albus's desk, and walking out briskly.
Albus sighed and rested his chin on his hand.
Of course, the cruelest thing Minerva could ever do to him was make him redo paperwork.