A/N: As always, thank you for your reviews, views, and interactions. For reference, the last chapter took place in October 1966.

For the disclaimer, please see the prologue.

Chapter Sixty-Six: December 1966

"I want to make it very clear that you can't do these sorts of things again," Abraxas Malfoy said sternly to Tom Riddle. He peered at his friend across his red oak desk in the Auror office. "My family may have clout and influence, but this..." Abraxas trailed off, shaking his head. "You're lucky I work in the Auror department, Tom. You could have been sent to Azkaban."

"I told you, it's Lord Tom," Tom spat. "Until I can think of a better name, at any rate."

Abraxas raised an eyebrow, but didn't address his friend's comment. "I knew you were fiddling with time, but you didn't trust the right people."

"Clearly." Tom sighed and rolled his eyes. "I know to never trust someone so easily again—especially Dolohov. He will need to earn my trust back." Tom leaned over the desk, his eyes glinting eagerly. "I've set him a number of tests. If he can pass those, he can remain a part of our group, but I will not allow him in my inner circle again. Unlike you, my friend." Tom inclined his head in a show of respect to his friend, but the motion didn't quell Abraxas' nerves.

While Dolohov was an experienced duellist with a thirst for violence, he had proven to be quite loose-lipped. Over a pint or six at the Leaky Cauldron, Dolohov had confided in a colleague in the Unspeakables department that he had leaked department secrets to Tom Riddle. Unfortunately for Tom, Dolohov also revealed that Tom had created a necklace that could allow the wearer to travel through time—Tom had taken the sands of time from the Unspeakables, and charmed them with hour-reversal charms.

Dolohov had found the whole thing funny, and had told his colleague that Tom was having fun wreaking havoc and gallivanting through time. His colleague, a junior on the team, had become frightened, and confessed everything to his recently-returned-from-sabbatical superior, Callum McGonagall.

This detail had annoyed Tom more than anything. Due to Tom and Katrina's ill-fated attempt to harm the McGonagall clan, Callum clearly knew of Tom's activities, but he had never had any proof.

Until Dolohov had opened his smarmy mouth.

After firing Dolohov and ensuring that he could never again work for the Ministry, Callum McGonagall had assembled a team to search Tom's home. Not expecting to be betrayed by a member of his inner circle, Tom hadn't taken the necessary precautions to protect his assets. He lost everything to the Unspeakables, including his notes on time travel, his soul bond research, and, to his unrelenting anger, the precious devices that he had painstakingly created to hold the sands of time he had stolen from the Ministry.

So, Tom and his time-turners—as he had affectionately named them—were called in for questioning.

While he had been berated by an irate Callum McGonagall, along with Aurors and various other Ministry officials, Tom had found himself agreeing with his foes. He should have been smarter, even if it wasn't in the way the Ministry would have wanted. No, Tom didn't regret placing spies throughout the Ministry. Instead, he regretted his carelessness. He should have hidden at least some of the sands of time far away from his own flat. After all of the historical persons he had studied—all of the Purebloods he aspired to emulate—he should have realized that one should always expect to be betrayed, and should hide their assets accordingly.

Tom would not be making that mistake again.

In the end, Tom had once again found a reason to hate his Muggle father's name, and he found himself relying on his friend's last name to help him out of trouble. Abraxas had been willing to help Tom, but it had caused him great consternation, and cost a fair bit of money.

To put it mildly, the whole situation had only increased Tom's hatred for the McGonagall family.

"And you're lucky," Abraxas continued, breaking Tom's thoughts, "that no one connected you to the unfortunate mess Katrina Rowle made. I doubt even Malfoy money could have made that...disaster disappear."

"I told you that I only went to clean up her mess," Tom lied easily. "It's not my fault that she died. A tragedy, of course—but it was her idea to attack the McGonagalls. Katrina held a deranged vendetta against that family, and while I can't say I disagreed with her sentiments, that was her mission. I know better than to go after a family like that. The only remaining Ross heirs cannot be touched without repercussions. You know that, my dear friend."

Abraxas narrowed his eyes, careful to mask his disbelief. He knew, as many of the Slytherins did, of Tom Riddle's ill-fated attempts to woo Minerva McGonagall while at Hogwarts. Abraxas would never push his friend on the subject, but he had a feeling that Tom and Katrina had been so well-suited for each other because of their shared dislike for the McGonagall family, rather than in spite of it.

Finally, Abraxas said, "I know you were manipulating time, Lord Tom, but I have never once asked what your aim was in doing so. In light of recent events, I feel the need to do so. Is there anything else I need to know? Do I need to protect your name from anything else that might be brought up at the Ministry level? I need not remind you that my name is now on the line."

"No," Tom said, his eyes gleaming. "I don't intend to get caught ever again."

"That's not what I asked."

"That's all you need to know," Tom replied sharply. "If you need to be involved in my plans, I will inform you, Abraxas. Of that, you can have no doubts. You've proven yourself to be a loyal and useful friend. I reward my friends."

"Then I shall end our conversation by stating that I'm sorry we won't see you for a while," Abraxas noted. "I'm sure that a Ministry-ordered trip to the continent wasn't quite what you had in mind for the next few years, but I hope it does you some good. At any rate, you can keep in touch with us, and it's better than Azkaban." Abraxas hesitated. "And I am sorry that the Unspeakables will most likely be using your invention for their own pursuits. I'd attempt to get you some more of those sands of time, but there's no way you'd be allowed to take them across the border."

Tom pursed his lips. He wasn't pleased that the Ministry would be taking credit for his accomplishments, but that was no matter, not in the grand scheme of things. His punishment—or sentence, as McGonagall had called it—for all of this was a five-year banishment from the United Kingdom. While it wasn't an ideal situation, he was confident his most loyal followers would come flocking to his side upon his return.

Meanwhile, Tom had business in Albania.

Athena Scrimgeour was depressed. She could see the signs within herself, but she didn't know how to make herself feel any better.

Growing up with a Medi-Witch for an aunt meant that Athena knew every single symptom of the most common physical and mental health illnesses that could befall a person. Poppy had drilled all of her knowledge into Athena and Dalton's heads, and had made them repeatedly promise to see her if they ever experienced a symptom.

What Poppy had failed to impress upon Athena was just how little she would care about getting better once she felt ill.

Since losing her baby, Athena had retreated into herself. She barely left the Manor if she could help it. After their initial recuperation at Minerva's home, Dalton had made the decision for the couple to stay there. He thought it would be better for their family to be closer together. Athena knew he had a point, but she couldn't bring herself to care one way or the other.

Athena passed her days with an odd mix of crying, throwing things and then repairing them, writing letters to her father to convince him she was all right, and visiting with whichever McGonagall family member was sent to console her.

It was some way to spend what was supposed to be her maternity leave.

Athena and Dalton both knew she needed a change, and Athena believed she had discovered the perfect way to do it. The week before Christmas, Athena told Dalton she wanted to go back to the Ministry to visit their office. As expected, her husband was pleasantly surprised, but apprehensive.

"Are you sure you're okay to go?" Dalton asked, pouring Athena her usual morning cup of tea. "I thought Poppy didn't want you working until at least the New Year."

"I'm not going to work. I'm going to speak with Dawlish about my return to work plan, that's all," Athena said, shrugging. "I thought this would be a good way to get out of the house."

"If you're sure." Dalton looked at his wife carefully. While Dalton was grieving, he had still felt comfortable confiding in Minerva, his aunts and uncle, and even Albus. He knew that he had been able to take steps to heal that his wife, for whatever reason, could not. Dalton felt guilty about it, but Poppy assured him that he was doing the best he could.

"D?" Athena looked at Dalton expectantly.

Dalton cleared his throat. "I don't truthfully understand how visiting the office will help anything, but I'm willing to be proved wrong."

Athena shrugged again. "It might be good to have a sense of normalcy again, and see someone outside of our family. Besides, we can travel back here for lunch if you feel more comfortable with me resting at home for the rest of the afternoon."

Dalton released a relieved sigh. "Yes, I would prefer that. We need to be taking baby steps." His eyes widened. "I'm sorry. Small steps."

"It's fine, D," Athena said, but she bit her lip. "I have to get used to the world sooner rather than later, no?"

Dalton didn't say anything, instead choosing to put a spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

Once they had reached their department at the Ministry, Dalton left Athena in front of their supervisor's door. "You'll come and get me if you need me?"

"Yes." Athena smiled gently and squeezed his hand. "I'll come and get you if anything goes wrong, but I truly believe this might be the best thing I've done in months."

"I didn't realize you placed this much importance on seeing our boss," Dalton grumbled, but his eyes were twinkling. "I'll be in my office."

"I'll get you for lunch," Athena promised. She watched her husband walk away for a moment before she knocked on her boss's door. "Hello, Dawlish."

"Athena." Harold Dawlish smiled. "Please, sit down. Would you like a cup of tea, or perhaps a glass of water?"

"No, thank you." Athena sat, clasped her hands in her lap, and looked at her boss expectantly. "I know that my message said I wanted to talk about my return to work plan, but—"

"You know I don't care about that," Harold interrupted, waving his hand. Harold Dawlish was a hard worker, and he expected the most out of his employees, but he was a fair, kind supervisor. "You were entitled to a year off. I won't be bothered if you don't come back until October next year."

"I know," Athena said slowly, "and I appreciate that. But, Harold, I'm losing my mind."

"I can only imagine," Harold replied sympathetically, thinking about his own four children. "And I am truly sorry for your loss, Athena."

"Thank you." Athena swallowed tightly. "I'm afraid my message was a bit misleading. I do wish to speak to you about my return to the office, but there's another matter I would like to discuss with you."

"Well, by all means." Harold extended his arms in invitation.

"I've been thinking, and I don't think I can return to work next month," Athena said. "I'm in no state of mind to be responsible for the sorts of decisions we make in this office, and I'm starting to think I may benefit if I see my Medi-Witch on a daily basis. For my body, as well as my mind," she added. "I don't think I'd pass the psychiatric evaluation if I were to take the test again. I still want to return before October, but next month is a bit of a stretch."

"I already told you: that's no problem at all. We'll simply push back your start date, and we can go from there." Harold looked at her intently. "What else did you want to speak about?"

"How far along is the soul bond research?" Athena asked.

Harold's face took on a bemused look. "Athena, you just answered my question with one of your own. But," he said quickly, heading off her interruption, "the research is going relatively well. As you know, our subject pool is quite small. That always makes it difficult."

"What exactly do the experimental trials look like?" Athena narrowed her eyes. "I know you were doing some injury work before I left, but I'm afraid I don't know much more."

"That would be because only those either directly monitoring the trials or participating in them know exactly what they entail. I know most of the details, obviously, but not all of the specifics." Harold's mouth formed an 'o' shape as he realized why she was asking. "Do you know a couple who is soul bonded? A couple that would be willing to go through the trials?"

"I know a couple who is soul bonded, but they would like to know more before they agree to the trials." Athena flipped her braid over her shoulder nervously. "Surely you can understand that they have some reservations."

"Of course." Harold nodded. "There's an information packet we have compiled for those that are willing to go through the trials. I suppose I can tell you that the research area has expanded somewhat."

"Oh?"

"We are still looking at soul bonds in relation to injuries, but also blood types, magical core capacity, time travel, Animagus ability—"

"Wait." Athena felt a flare of anger swell in her stomach. "Time travel?"

"Yes, there is reason to believe that bonded people may—" Harold stopped himself. "I can't reveal more than that, unfortunately. Do you think the couple you know would be interested in time travel specifically?"

Athena nodded slowly. Losing her son had made her want to understand as much about time travel as she could. "Yes, I think they would be."

"I can easily contact the couple in question to set up a time to go over the oaths required to read the information packet," Harold offered. He looked at Athena carefully. "I know the oaths for mere information can seem a bit much, but these trials are top-priority government secrets, after all. If you have the couple's consent, I can have everything ready to go by the end of the week. They could even go through their first trial before Christmas, if they're quick about it."

"Yes," Athena lied easily, swallowing the guilt down and hoping Dalton would eventually forgive her. "Yes, they have both given me consent."

"Merry Christmas, my dear," Albus whispered, nuzzling her cheek with his beard. "It's our first Christmas together in a very long time."

Minerva opened one eye. "And it's early, my love. We're not children anymore, and our children are no longer young. There's no need to be up at—" She took hold of Albus' wrist and squinted at his wristwatch. "At six."

"I could make it worth your while," Albus said cheekily. He trailed a hand down Minerva's arm and slid it across her stomach.

"Al," Minerva sighed. She turned her head to look at him, and to his horror, he discovered she was crying.

"I'm sorry I woke you up!" Albus cried. "I didn't mean to upset you. Here, let's go back to sleep."

"It's not that," Minerva said, her voice weak. She closed her eyes. "I had bought presents for the baby." She nodded in the direction of her wardrobe, which she had left open the night before. "I can see them from here."

Albus softened his gaze. "Oh, Min...do you want me to do anything? Would you like me to get rid of them? Return them? Have them sent to Iolanthe and Charlus?"

Minerva shook her head. "No. As bad as it sounds, I don't particularly want to be reminded of my grandchild every time I visit my niece."

"Okay," Albus said gently. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You've done more than enough," Minerva answered honestly.

And he had.

In the two months since little Aidan's death, Albus had been more supportive and gentler than she had ever expected him to be. He had helped Minerva grade when she wasn't feeling up to it, and he had coaxed her into eating when the grief became too much. Albus had checked on Dalton and Athena whenever he could, making sure they knew he was available to help them. He had even taken some of Minerva's duties as Deputy off her plate, which had caused him to embarrassingly realize that he had given her far more of his work over the years than he should have.

On occasion, Albus even spoke to Minerva about his own feelings. As much as she wanted to support him, she almost marvelled at his newfound ability to be open with her. Something had changed inside of her partner, and Minerva found that Albus, for all of his remaining faults and idiosyncrasies, was trying.

She loved him all the more for it.

"I just wish I could do more," Albus murmured. He pressed a kiss to Minerva's temple. "Although you've raised a pertinent point, my dear. How do we treat Christmas this year?"

"As we always do, but perhaps with subdued excitement. And if someone suddenly starts crying—as I just did—we take it in stride."

"I must admit that I'm thankful the rest of your family is heading to France," Albus said. He relaxed against the headboard and pulled Minerva against his chest. "I can't imagine that Dalton and Athena would want to see another baby's first Christmas."

"No, I wouldn't think so," Minerva agreed. Callum, Lucy, Aoife, and Alice had ventured to Lyon to visit Iolanthe's family. Iolanthe and Esmé were both doing well, but neither of them could handle another voyage of that magnitude so soon after returning to their home.

"I'm glad Poppy and Ro will be joining us at the Manor." Albus smiled. "While Ro's sense of humour isn't always fun when it's at my expense, I enjoy it in general."

Minerva laughed. "Her humour has always been a bright spot in my life."

"How did you end up childhood friends? I thought your mother purposefully avoided all of her magical acquaintances."

"Ma tried," Minerva said, snorting. "Ro's mother was best friends with mine while at school together. When Ma married my father, Mrs. Lovegood promised that she and her family would pretend to be Muggle so that their kids could grow up together—just like they'd planned at Hogwarts." Minerva smiled fondly. "You know that my childhood years left something to be desired, but Ro always gave me a reason to laugh, even if we ended up in trouble."

Albus grinned. "I'm glad you had her."

"And I'm glad I still have her." Minerva cupped Albus' cheek. "That is all thanks to you, my love."

Albus blushed. "I'm glad I could help."

"You did more than help, and you know it. Now," Minerva said, lifting herself off Albus' chest, "we have a breakfast to attend here, and then we must head off for the Manor."

"You're the one who said it was early," Albus protested. "Five more minutes in bed?"

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "I could use a shower. Care to join me?"

A few hours later, at the Manor, Minerva once again found herself thanking Ro for her comedic ability. Ro had everyone in stitches early in the afternoon, and she had even coaxed a smile out of Athena. While Ro was busy entertaining, Poppy pulled Dalton aside.

"Poppy, please don't examine me on Christmas," Dalton groaned. "There shouldn't be a need for that."

"I don't want to examine you, but honey..." Poppy paused to give Dalton a once-over. He looked paler than he usually did, and his eyes had lost some of their usual McGonagall sparkle. "You look tired. I'm worried about you, that's all."

"Work has been...stressful," Dalton admitted. "And for obvious reasons, I'm not feeling fantastic, and Athena has been miserable, which hasn't helped." He grimaced. "Our bond has not been the most helpful instrument in the midst of our grief."

Poppy pursed her lips. "I'd feel a lot better if I could bring you back to the Hospital Wing before the New Year."

"What are you two doing over here?" Minerva asked, approaching her son and friend. "It's Christmas—what's with the long faces?"

"Despite making claims to the contrary, your son appears to be in a bad way," Poppy said firmly. "Perhaps you can convince him to let me check him over."

"What's wrong, darling?" Minerva frowned. Her eyes roamed over Dalton's form, taking in everything from his hunched shoulders to his sweaty palms. "Poppy's right; you don't look well at all."

"Ma, I'm fine," Dalton sighed.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for caring about you." She turned to Poppy. "Do you think Athena is sick, too?"

Poppy shook her head. "Athena, actually, looks better as of late. But Dalton, your magic feels off."

"Does Athena know?" Minerva asked gently. "Perhaps she can help."

"Athena is the reason I'm like this," Dalton growled. "Trust me, she knows why."

Minerva's eyes widened. "Is there a wizarding sexual disease I don't know about?"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Ma!" Dalton cried. "Leave it alone!" With that, he turned on his heel and stalked to his bedroom. The sound of his door slamming reverberated throughout the Manor, no small feat in a house of its size.

Everyone looked to Athena, but she stayed quiet.

Ro, always one to break the tension, yelled, "Presents!"

The remaining members of the group slowly sank into chairs around the Christmas tree. Albus sat beside Minerva and took her hand. "What was that about?" he murmured.

"I don't know." Minerva bit her lip. "I'm worried."

"Do you think there's trouble in newlywed paradise?" Albus asked quietly. "I could ask Athena later."

"Don't." Minerva shook her head as she watched Athena accept a gift from Ro. "She's having a good day—don't ruin it for her. I'll see if Dalton will talk to me in a few weeks. He clearly needs some time to calm down, but I wish he would see Poppy. He clearly looks unwell."

"I'll check in on him, too," Albus promised, and Minerva felt her heart swell.

"Dad," Athena called, getting their attention. "This present is for you."

Albus levitated the gift in question over to his lap. He opened the accompanying card. "To..." Albus blushed. "Oh, my."

"What, a secret admirer?" Minerva asked, teasing. She craned her neck to try to see the message.

Albus cleared his throat. "To: Uncle Albus. Love: Iolanthe, Charlus, and Esmé."

"Ha! You're Uncle Albus now!" Ro laughed. "Congrats, Albus!"

"Oh, that girl has some nerve," Minerva muttered. She shook her head, but couldn't stop the smile spreading across her face. "I'll be sure to give my niece a good, old-fashioned lecture."

"Our niece, apparently," Albus said, chuckling. "She has your gall, Minerva."

"Perhaps she is happy to see that her aunt is happy," Poppy declared. "I can't say I blame her, either. We're all happy for you, Min."

Minerva felt her face redden. After the funeral in October, Minerva and Albus had indeed told their entire family about their relationship. Everyone had been thrilled for them—especially the second generation, who had apparently been waiting for the two to get together for ages. Later, the couple had taken Callum, Lucy, Ro and Poppy aside. With Minerva's permission, Albus had informed them that they did not want to tell any of the youngsters about their previous relationship. The couple was not yet ready to reveal their own soul bond to their children, and so they wanted to keep any potential suspicions at bay.

"Is no one happy for me?" Albus joked. "I am by far the luckier of the two of us."

"I suppose that's true," Athena said softly. "Min definitely got the short end of the stick."

"Hey! I wouldn't go that far!" Albus complained good-naturedly. "What do you have to say to that, Min?"

Minerva laughed and pecked his lips. "Happy Christmas, my love."