A/N: Well, I thought that after all the trauma, our heroes should have some fun... ^_^ Historical figures that appear in this chapter include, but are not limited to: Winston Churchill, Franklin Roosevelt, Harry Truman, and Dwight Eisenhower. Enjoy, and thanks for reading, everyone. I'll do the individual thing when I have more time.
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CHAPTER TWELVE: THE INAUGURAL BALL
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"I can't breathe in this dress."
If Albus Dumbledore hadn't been so blown away by the sight of Minerva McGonagall as they prepared to enter the ballroom in the residence of the American Muggle president, he probably would have laughed at her comment. She wore a cream-colored gown without any decoration other than the elegance of its simplicity, and gloves of the same color on her hands. Her raven-black hair was down, and held off her face by an ivory headband. He'd never really realized how long her hair was because she never wore it down; it reached to just above her waist. "You look incredible," he said, surprised he had the ability to do so.
She smiled and smoothed out a wrinkle on his jacket. "Thank you. So do you."
Dumbledore was wearing a tuxedo. "Strange clothes, these Muggles have," he said. He touched his tie, then added, "I can't understand why in the world they would try to choke themselves."
"Professor Dumbledore? Professor McGonagall?" came a voice from behind.
The two Hogwarts teachers turned around and saw themselves looking at Winston Churchill himself. "Hello, Prime Minister," Dumbledore said. "How are you?" The two of them had flown over with Churchill in a Muggle invention called an airplane, and they would be travelling together again when they returned to Europe.
"Fine, thank you," Churchill returned. "President Roosevelt would like to meet you, but he and Vice President Truman are discussing some things with the ambassadors from Australia and Canada at the moment. I'll find you when he's available. Until then, you are free to enjoy yourselves." He sighed and glanced inside the ballroom. "Or at least attempt to, anyway."
Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Prime Minister."
Churchill excused himself and left their company. Dumbledore motioned toward the ballroom, offered Minerva his arm, and said, "Shall we?"
She took his arm, and they walked inside. Several people noticed the man with the long auburn hair and beard and the beautiful, dark-haired woman with him, but figured they were emissaries from some foreign country where everyone looked like that, and although they did not quite fit in, they did not stand out, either. Minerva tightened her grip on Dumbledore's arm, and he reached for her hand and patted it reassuringly. Neither one of them felt comfortable in the middle of a giant room filled with strangers, but as long as they had each other, that would suffice.
"Look at all these people," Minerva commented, gazing around the room. "Are they all Muggles?"
"No," he answered. "Remember? Prime Minister Churchill told us that wizards from the Soviet Union, Switzerland, France, Canada, Australia, China, and several other countries are here, too." He looked up, noticed someone, and cringed. He silently prayed to himself that this man would not notice him.
No such luck. As if on cue, the man looked over and spotted them. He smiled broadly and waved. Dumbledore forced himself to smile and wave back. "See, look, there's one already," he said through clenched teeth. "Jean-Pierre Delacour."
"Jean-Pierre Delacour," Minerva repeated, forcing a smile as well. "That doesn't help."
"You don't like him, either?"
"Not particularly."
Jean-Pierre Delacour, the headmaster of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was, as Armando Dippet had once put it, "a member of the chosen few" - people Dumbledore didn't like that were not his enemies. There were anywhere from three to five names on the list at any given moment (depending on how well he was getting along with Theodore Chaplain, Hogwarts's Divination instructor, and whether or not he considered Peeves the poltergeist a "person"), and Delacour's was the first. The other two were Noah McCarthy and a distant cousin of Paul Fenner's named Linus. Tom Riddle's name had once been on the list, but in light of recent events, Riddle had graduated up to enemy status. He was no longer at Hogwarts; Hawkins had him removed after Minerva reported the incident.
"Maybe he won't come over," Minerva said hopefully.
No such luck. Delacour began weaving his way through the crowd, and as soon as he was within speaking distance, said, "Bonjour, Professeur Dumbly-dorr! It ees so wonderful to be seeing you 'ere."
"Bonjour, Professeur Delacour," Dumbledore replied, trying to keep his expression neutral.
Delacour's eyes fell upon Minerva, and he smiled. "And 'oo is thees beautiful young woman?"
"Jean-Pierre, meet Professor Minerva McGonagall, Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Minerva, this is Jean-Pierre Delacour, headmaster of Beauxbatons." He knew she already knew that, but Delacour clearly expected a formal introduction.
Minerva held out her hand, expecting Delacour to shake it. He kissed it instead. "Enchanter," he said.
"Je ne parle pas le francais," she replied. That was about as far as her French took her.
Delacour laughed. "That would imply otherwise, mademoiselle."
"Là vous êtes!" came a voice from behind. "J'avais regardé partout pour vous."
A smile that stretched from ear to ear appeared on Delacour's face, and Dumbledore and Minerva turned around. Standing behind them was the second most beautiful woman Dumbledore had ever seen. Silvery-blond hair hung in ringlets down to her waist, and her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. Her teeth were as white as snow and perfectly even. A gown of golden silk accented her perfect body and shimmered with the slightest movement. It was then that he realized that she wasn't a "woman" at all - she was a veela.
Delacour stepped between Dumbledore and Minerva, took the veela's hands, and kissed her on both cheeks. "Albus, Meenerva, I would like you to meet my wife, Nicolette. Nicolette, je voudrais presenter professeurs Albus Dumbly-dorr et Meenerva McGone-agall."
"I am 'onored to meet you," she said, smiling at both of them and extending her hand to Minerva, who shook it, but only out of politeness. Nicolette moved her hand to Dumbledore next, clearly expecting him to kiss it. He shook it instead, with the same stiff formality as Minerva.
She looked slightly peeved as she pulled her hand away, and suddenly didn't seem quite so beautiful. Delacour took over before Nicolette had the chance to get angry. "So, Albus, 'ow are things at 'Ogwarts? I was most upset when I 'eard about Armando Dippet," he said, and he did indeed look remorseful.
"'E was," Nicolette confirmed. "I 'ave never seen 'im so un-appy."
"Not much better," Dumbledore said in reponse to Delacour's question. "They haven't caught the murderer yet, and the Ministry's all but given up."
"Are there any suspects?" Delacour asked.
"No," Dumbledore said, electing to refrain from mentioning that he was the prime suspect.
Delacour shook his head and sighed. "What ees the world coming to, I ask you? 'E was a great man, Professeur Dippet." He looked at Minerva and said, "Did you know 'im well?"
Dumbledore barely had enough time to stop himself from flinching at Delacour's comment. Minerva had to take a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. "Yes, I knew him quite well."
Dumbledore and Minerva were saved from further interrogation when Winston Churchill appeared. "President Roosevelt is ready to see you, Professors," he said.
Delacour nodded approvingly. "Wonderful man, President Roosevelt. I 'ope you will like 'im."
Nicolette greeted Churchill and then excused herself to go get cocktails for herself and Delacour.
"I'll let you say good-bye to your friend," Churchill said, and then stepped a few feet away.
"Au revoir, Jean-Pierre," Dumbledore said, and then lied, "It was good to see you."
"The pleasure was all mine, Albus," Delacour replied, shaking Dumbledore's hand enthusiastically.
"It sure was," Dumbledore mumbled under his breath as Delacour moved on to Minerva.
"I insist that you save me a dance, mademoiselle," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "La veela est gentil, mais parfois, des longs d'un homme pour la compagnie d'une vraie femme." He dropped her hand and then winked.
Dumbledore closed his eyes and silently counted to threee.
"We'll see," Minerva said. She took Dumbledore's arm. "Let's go, Albus."
"I really don't like that man," Dumbledore commented once they were a safe distance away.
"What did he say to me just then?" she asked.
He shook his head. "You don't want to know."
"That's right, you don't," came Churchill's voice. The British Prime Minister looked at Dumbledore and said, "I admire you, Professor. If another man said that to my wife, I would never have been able to maintain my composure like you did."
"We're not married," Dumbledore said, and both he and Minerva turned slightly red. Little did either one of them know they were thinking the same thing: Not yet, anyway.
"My mistake," Churchill said. "Ah, Mr. President!"
Dumbledore and Minerva turned their heads and noticed a man sitting in a wheelchair, flanked by two other men on either side. The man in the wheelchair extended his hand to Dumbledore. "Franklin Roosevelt," he said. "Pleased to meet you..."
"Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore said, shaking Roosevelt's hand. He'd met world leaders before, but rarely Muggle ones, and there was something about Roosevelt that seemed different from the others. It might have had something to do with the fact that he had been elected president of the United States for the fourth consecutive time and he was in a wheelchair.
Roosevelt introduced himself to Minerva next, and she to him. He looked quite pleased. "I'm so glad you could come," he said. He motioned to the man on his right, then on his left, and said, "Please, I'd like to meet Vice President Harry Truman and General Dwight Eisenhower."
The two wizards shook hands with the vice president and the general. Roosevelt spoke again. "How are things in your part of the world? Is the war taking its toll there as well?"
They all knew "your part of the world" referred to the wizarding world. "Not directly, but we can feel it," Dumbledore said. "It is growing increasingly difficult to refrain from getting involved."
Roosevelt nodded. "Well, we could certainly use your help. God knows we need all the help we can get," he said, and Truman, Eisenhower, and Churchill nodded.
"That's not really our call," Minerva commented. "We don't have the authority to make any decisions like that."
Truman smiled. "Not to worry, for this is hardly an event to discuss such things, anyway. Really, sir, I thought you knew better than that."
Roosevelt laughed. "You're right, and yes, I know."
Churchill was smiling, too, but Eisenhower wasn't, and Roosevelt noticed this and inquired about it. "With all due respect, sir, I see no reason why this should be taken so lightly," the general grumbled. "There's a war going on."
Minerva noticed that he ended his sentence with a preposition and had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything.
"Oh, lighten up, General," Roosevelt said. "I think you've earned a few hours of relaxation."
Eisenhower refrained from further comment. They conversed on various topics for about ten minutes or so, and then Roosevelt and Churchill excused themselves to do a scheduled interview with the media with Joseph Stalin, the leader of the Soviet Union. The duo of Truman and Eisenhower bade farewell to Dumbledore and Minerva, and once they were gone, Dumbledore asked Minerva if she would like to dance. She accepted, and they spent the next half hour on the dance floor.
After a while, Churchill approached them again and told them Stalin wanted to meet them. They discussed random things with Stalin for a while, and then Dumbledore and Churchill got into a conversation about Nazi concentration camps on mainland Europe. Minerva listened for a few minutes, but gradually began to grow bored.
Seeing she had lost interest in Dumbledore and Churchill's conversation, Stalin asked Minerva for a dance, and with Dumbledore's approval, they moved out onto the dance floor. However, after only a few minutes, one of Stalin's men came up to him and whispered something in his ear. Stalin asked her forgiveness and excused himself. Minerva looked around for Dumbledore and Churchill, but could not see them. She suddenly felt very lost.
Minerva glanced around the room, hoping to spot Dumbledore. He would be fairly easy to find if he passed within her line of sight. She saw him at the opposite end of the room, still talking to Churchill. A wave of relief washed over her, and she began walking in that direction. The last thing she wanted was to be alone in a room full of strange Muggles.
As it turned out, seconds later, a voice made her change her mind. Being alone in a room full of strange Muggles was better than being in the company of Jean-Pierre Delacour, who was walking in her direction. His veela wife was nowhere in sight. "Well, it seems I have finally caught you alone," he said. "I'm ready for that dance, if you are."
She would rather dance with a complete stranger, and without even thinking, she grabbed the arm of the nearest man and said, "I'm sorry, Professor Delacour, but I was just going to dance with..." She then saw whose arm she was hold on to, and tried not to show her surprise as she finished the phrase. "General Eisenhower."
Eisenhower looked startled, too, but then noticed Delacour. "Yes, that's right," he said. "Maybe next time, Professeur Delacour."
Delacour looked slightly miffed as Minerva and Eisenhower walked out onto the dance floor, but soon lost interest and began seeking out Nicolette.
"Thank you, General," Minerva said to Eisenhower as they danced. "I don't know what I would have done if..."
"Don't mention it," Eisenhower said dismissively. "It was the least I could do to get you away from that man."
"You know Jean-Pierre Delacour?"
"Yes, unfortunately. You're lucky I met other wizards before I met him, otherwise my impression of the rest of you wouldn't be close to what it is."
"Just because one wizard is like Delacour doesn't make us all that way."
"Yes, I know."
"Just as one bad Muggle does not make all of you bad."
Eisenhower smiled. "Yes, that, too."
It wasn't often that Minerva met a Muggle she liked, but Eisenhower definitely fell into that category. She liked Roosevelt, too. In fact, she found all the Muggles she had met that evening quite likeable - all four of them, anyway; Eisenhower, Roosevelt, Truman, and Stalin. She wasn't counting Churchill; although she liked him as well, she met him that morning. She wondered what would have happened if she had randomly selected another Muggle instead of Eisenhower. Would she be dancing with Jean-Pierre Delacour right now? She didn't think the veela would appreciate that very much, especially after the comment Delacour made when she and Dumbledore left with Churchill to meet Roosevelt. She still had no idea what the man said, but from the reactions both Dumbledore and Churchill had, she gathered that it was not repeatable and that neither had any intention of telling her.
Then, she had an idea. "General Eisenhower," she said, "do you speak French?"
Eisenhower nodded. "Enough to hold up my end of a conversation. Why?"
"What does this mean?" she asked, and repeated what Delacour told her.
Eisenhower grimaced. "Did Delacour say that to you?"
"Yes."
He shook his head. "You don't want to know, and I don't think whoever Veela is would want to, either."
After the song ended some five minutes later, Minerva thanked Eisenhower again for rescuing her from Delacour and went over to Dumbledore, who was still talking to Churchill. By this time, the topic had shifted from the war to the entertainment industry. That change had come at about the same time Minerva started dancing with Eisenhower, when Dumbledore noticed a man that bore a striking resemblance to a young Armando Dippet. He did a double take when he saw the man that looked so much like the murdered headmaster, and asked Churchill if he knew who he was. Churchill replied in the affirmative and told him that he was an actor named Humphrey Bogart.
"I'll leave you two alone," Churchill said with a smile when Minerva came up to them, and excused himself.
Dumbledore took Minerva's hands, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "I'm no Joseph Stalin, but would you like to dance with me anyway?"
She smiled and replied, "You're no General Eisenhower either, but I would love to dance with you just the same."
"General Eisenhower?" Dumbledore repeated as they made their way onto the dance floor. "You danced with him, too?"
"It was an accident," she said. "I was walking toward you and Prime Minister Churchill, and... and Jean-Pierre Delacour spotted me. He asked me to dance, and I grabbed the arm of the nearest man and said I had already agreed to dance with him. It turned out to be General Eisenhower."
Dumbledore laughed. "Only you could accidently land a dance with a general, Minerva McGonagall. Only you."
"I don't understand why Delacour wanted to dance with me in the first place," Minerva said. "I mean, his wife's a veela..."
"Oh, she's not so wonderful."
"I bet you're jealous."
"I bet I'm not. Why would I want anything to do with a veela when I have you?" he asked. "I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world before I fell in love with you." Suddenly, he stopped all movement, and a pained look crossed his face. It almost felt like a bomb had gone off in his head, and the pain was so intense that he could barely stand.
Minerva helped him over to a chair, and then asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"
He pressed his hands to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. "There's something happening at Hogwarts," he answered. His voice was so constricted with pain that it was difficult to make out what he was saying. "Something... terrible..."
~~~
CHAPTER TWELVE: THE INAUGURAL BALL
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"I can't breathe in this dress."
If Albus Dumbledore hadn't been so blown away by the sight of Minerva McGonagall as they prepared to enter the ballroom in the residence of the American Muggle president, he probably would have laughed at her comment. She wore a cream-colored gown without any decoration other than the elegance of its simplicity, and gloves of the same color on her hands. Her raven-black hair was down, and held off her face by an ivory headband. He'd never really realized how long her hair was because she never wore it down; it reached to just above her waist. "You look incredible," he said, surprised he had the ability to do so.
She smiled and smoothed out a wrinkle on his jacket. "Thank you. So do you."
Dumbledore was wearing a tuxedo. "Strange clothes, these Muggles have," he said. He touched his tie, then added, "I can't understand why in the world they would try to choke themselves."
"Professor Dumbledore? Professor McGonagall?" came a voice from behind.
The two Hogwarts teachers turned around and saw themselves looking at Winston Churchill himself. "Hello, Prime Minister," Dumbledore said. "How are you?" The two of them had flown over with Churchill in a Muggle invention called an airplane, and they would be travelling together again when they returned to Europe.
"Fine, thank you," Churchill returned. "President Roosevelt would like to meet you, but he and Vice President Truman are discussing some things with the ambassadors from Australia and Canada at the moment. I'll find you when he's available. Until then, you are free to enjoy yourselves." He sighed and glanced inside the ballroom. "Or at least attempt to, anyway."
Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Prime Minister."
Churchill excused himself and left their company. Dumbledore motioned toward the ballroom, offered Minerva his arm, and said, "Shall we?"
She took his arm, and they walked inside. Several people noticed the man with the long auburn hair and beard and the beautiful, dark-haired woman with him, but figured they were emissaries from some foreign country where everyone looked like that, and although they did not quite fit in, they did not stand out, either. Minerva tightened her grip on Dumbledore's arm, and he reached for her hand and patted it reassuringly. Neither one of them felt comfortable in the middle of a giant room filled with strangers, but as long as they had each other, that would suffice.
"Look at all these people," Minerva commented, gazing around the room. "Are they all Muggles?"
"No," he answered. "Remember? Prime Minister Churchill told us that wizards from the Soviet Union, Switzerland, France, Canada, Australia, China, and several other countries are here, too." He looked up, noticed someone, and cringed. He silently prayed to himself that this man would not notice him.
No such luck. As if on cue, the man looked over and spotted them. He smiled broadly and waved. Dumbledore forced himself to smile and wave back. "See, look, there's one already," he said through clenched teeth. "Jean-Pierre Delacour."
"Jean-Pierre Delacour," Minerva repeated, forcing a smile as well. "That doesn't help."
"You don't like him, either?"
"Not particularly."
Jean-Pierre Delacour, the headmaster of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was, as Armando Dippet had once put it, "a member of the chosen few" - people Dumbledore didn't like that were not his enemies. There were anywhere from three to five names on the list at any given moment (depending on how well he was getting along with Theodore Chaplain, Hogwarts's Divination instructor, and whether or not he considered Peeves the poltergeist a "person"), and Delacour's was the first. The other two were Noah McCarthy and a distant cousin of Paul Fenner's named Linus. Tom Riddle's name had once been on the list, but in light of recent events, Riddle had graduated up to enemy status. He was no longer at Hogwarts; Hawkins had him removed after Minerva reported the incident.
"Maybe he won't come over," Minerva said hopefully.
No such luck. Delacour began weaving his way through the crowd, and as soon as he was within speaking distance, said, "Bonjour, Professeur Dumbly-dorr! It ees so wonderful to be seeing you 'ere."
"Bonjour, Professeur Delacour," Dumbledore replied, trying to keep his expression neutral.
Delacour's eyes fell upon Minerva, and he smiled. "And 'oo is thees beautiful young woman?"
"Jean-Pierre, meet Professor Minerva McGonagall, Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Minerva, this is Jean-Pierre Delacour, headmaster of Beauxbatons." He knew she already knew that, but Delacour clearly expected a formal introduction.
Minerva held out her hand, expecting Delacour to shake it. He kissed it instead. "Enchanter," he said.
"Je ne parle pas le francais," she replied. That was about as far as her French took her.
Delacour laughed. "That would imply otherwise, mademoiselle."
"Là vous êtes!" came a voice from behind. "J'avais regardé partout pour vous."
A smile that stretched from ear to ear appeared on Delacour's face, and Dumbledore and Minerva turned around. Standing behind them was the second most beautiful woman Dumbledore had ever seen. Silvery-blond hair hung in ringlets down to her waist, and her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. Her teeth were as white as snow and perfectly even. A gown of golden silk accented her perfect body and shimmered with the slightest movement. It was then that he realized that she wasn't a "woman" at all - she was a veela.
Delacour stepped between Dumbledore and Minerva, took the veela's hands, and kissed her on both cheeks. "Albus, Meenerva, I would like you to meet my wife, Nicolette. Nicolette, je voudrais presenter professeurs Albus Dumbly-dorr et Meenerva McGone-agall."
"I am 'onored to meet you," she said, smiling at both of them and extending her hand to Minerva, who shook it, but only out of politeness. Nicolette moved her hand to Dumbledore next, clearly expecting him to kiss it. He shook it instead, with the same stiff formality as Minerva.
She looked slightly peeved as she pulled her hand away, and suddenly didn't seem quite so beautiful. Delacour took over before Nicolette had the chance to get angry. "So, Albus, 'ow are things at 'Ogwarts? I was most upset when I 'eard about Armando Dippet," he said, and he did indeed look remorseful.
"'E was," Nicolette confirmed. "I 'ave never seen 'im so un-appy."
"Not much better," Dumbledore said in reponse to Delacour's question. "They haven't caught the murderer yet, and the Ministry's all but given up."
"Are there any suspects?" Delacour asked.
"No," Dumbledore said, electing to refrain from mentioning that he was the prime suspect.
Delacour shook his head and sighed. "What ees the world coming to, I ask you? 'E was a great man, Professeur Dippet." He looked at Minerva and said, "Did you know 'im well?"
Dumbledore barely had enough time to stop himself from flinching at Delacour's comment. Minerva had to take a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. "Yes, I knew him quite well."
Dumbledore and Minerva were saved from further interrogation when Winston Churchill appeared. "President Roosevelt is ready to see you, Professors," he said.
Delacour nodded approvingly. "Wonderful man, President Roosevelt. I 'ope you will like 'im."
Nicolette greeted Churchill and then excused herself to go get cocktails for herself and Delacour.
"I'll let you say good-bye to your friend," Churchill said, and then stepped a few feet away.
"Au revoir, Jean-Pierre," Dumbledore said, and then lied, "It was good to see you."
"The pleasure was all mine, Albus," Delacour replied, shaking Dumbledore's hand enthusiastically.
"It sure was," Dumbledore mumbled under his breath as Delacour moved on to Minerva.
"I insist that you save me a dance, mademoiselle," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "La veela est gentil, mais parfois, des longs d'un homme pour la compagnie d'une vraie femme." He dropped her hand and then winked.
Dumbledore closed his eyes and silently counted to threee.
"We'll see," Minerva said. She took Dumbledore's arm. "Let's go, Albus."
"I really don't like that man," Dumbledore commented once they were a safe distance away.
"What did he say to me just then?" she asked.
He shook his head. "You don't want to know."
"That's right, you don't," came Churchill's voice. The British Prime Minister looked at Dumbledore and said, "I admire you, Professor. If another man said that to my wife, I would never have been able to maintain my composure like you did."
"We're not married," Dumbledore said, and both he and Minerva turned slightly red. Little did either one of them know they were thinking the same thing: Not yet, anyway.
"My mistake," Churchill said. "Ah, Mr. President!"
Dumbledore and Minerva turned their heads and noticed a man sitting in a wheelchair, flanked by two other men on either side. The man in the wheelchair extended his hand to Dumbledore. "Franklin Roosevelt," he said. "Pleased to meet you..."
"Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore said, shaking Roosevelt's hand. He'd met world leaders before, but rarely Muggle ones, and there was something about Roosevelt that seemed different from the others. It might have had something to do with the fact that he had been elected president of the United States for the fourth consecutive time and he was in a wheelchair.
Roosevelt introduced himself to Minerva next, and she to him. He looked quite pleased. "I'm so glad you could come," he said. He motioned to the man on his right, then on his left, and said, "Please, I'd like to meet Vice President Harry Truman and General Dwight Eisenhower."
The two wizards shook hands with the vice president and the general. Roosevelt spoke again. "How are things in your part of the world? Is the war taking its toll there as well?"
They all knew "your part of the world" referred to the wizarding world. "Not directly, but we can feel it," Dumbledore said. "It is growing increasingly difficult to refrain from getting involved."
Roosevelt nodded. "Well, we could certainly use your help. God knows we need all the help we can get," he said, and Truman, Eisenhower, and Churchill nodded.
"That's not really our call," Minerva commented. "We don't have the authority to make any decisions like that."
Truman smiled. "Not to worry, for this is hardly an event to discuss such things, anyway. Really, sir, I thought you knew better than that."
Roosevelt laughed. "You're right, and yes, I know."
Churchill was smiling, too, but Eisenhower wasn't, and Roosevelt noticed this and inquired about it. "With all due respect, sir, I see no reason why this should be taken so lightly," the general grumbled. "There's a war going on."
Minerva noticed that he ended his sentence with a preposition and had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything.
"Oh, lighten up, General," Roosevelt said. "I think you've earned a few hours of relaxation."
Eisenhower refrained from further comment. They conversed on various topics for about ten minutes or so, and then Roosevelt and Churchill excused themselves to do a scheduled interview with the media with Joseph Stalin, the leader of the Soviet Union. The duo of Truman and Eisenhower bade farewell to Dumbledore and Minerva, and once they were gone, Dumbledore asked Minerva if she would like to dance. She accepted, and they spent the next half hour on the dance floor.
After a while, Churchill approached them again and told them Stalin wanted to meet them. They discussed random things with Stalin for a while, and then Dumbledore and Churchill got into a conversation about Nazi concentration camps on mainland Europe. Minerva listened for a few minutes, but gradually began to grow bored.
Seeing she had lost interest in Dumbledore and Churchill's conversation, Stalin asked Minerva for a dance, and with Dumbledore's approval, they moved out onto the dance floor. However, after only a few minutes, one of Stalin's men came up to him and whispered something in his ear. Stalin asked her forgiveness and excused himself. Minerva looked around for Dumbledore and Churchill, but could not see them. She suddenly felt very lost.
Minerva glanced around the room, hoping to spot Dumbledore. He would be fairly easy to find if he passed within her line of sight. She saw him at the opposite end of the room, still talking to Churchill. A wave of relief washed over her, and she began walking in that direction. The last thing she wanted was to be alone in a room full of strange Muggles.
As it turned out, seconds later, a voice made her change her mind. Being alone in a room full of strange Muggles was better than being in the company of Jean-Pierre Delacour, who was walking in her direction. His veela wife was nowhere in sight. "Well, it seems I have finally caught you alone," he said. "I'm ready for that dance, if you are."
She would rather dance with a complete stranger, and without even thinking, she grabbed the arm of the nearest man and said, "I'm sorry, Professor Delacour, but I was just going to dance with..." She then saw whose arm she was hold on to, and tried not to show her surprise as she finished the phrase. "General Eisenhower."
Eisenhower looked startled, too, but then noticed Delacour. "Yes, that's right," he said. "Maybe next time, Professeur Delacour."
Delacour looked slightly miffed as Minerva and Eisenhower walked out onto the dance floor, but soon lost interest and began seeking out Nicolette.
"Thank you, General," Minerva said to Eisenhower as they danced. "I don't know what I would have done if..."
"Don't mention it," Eisenhower said dismissively. "It was the least I could do to get you away from that man."
"You know Jean-Pierre Delacour?"
"Yes, unfortunately. You're lucky I met other wizards before I met him, otherwise my impression of the rest of you wouldn't be close to what it is."
"Just because one wizard is like Delacour doesn't make us all that way."
"Yes, I know."
"Just as one bad Muggle does not make all of you bad."
Eisenhower smiled. "Yes, that, too."
It wasn't often that Minerva met a Muggle she liked, but Eisenhower definitely fell into that category. She liked Roosevelt, too. In fact, she found all the Muggles she had met that evening quite likeable - all four of them, anyway; Eisenhower, Roosevelt, Truman, and Stalin. She wasn't counting Churchill; although she liked him as well, she met him that morning. She wondered what would have happened if she had randomly selected another Muggle instead of Eisenhower. Would she be dancing with Jean-Pierre Delacour right now? She didn't think the veela would appreciate that very much, especially after the comment Delacour made when she and Dumbledore left with Churchill to meet Roosevelt. She still had no idea what the man said, but from the reactions both Dumbledore and Churchill had, she gathered that it was not repeatable and that neither had any intention of telling her.
Then, she had an idea. "General Eisenhower," she said, "do you speak French?"
Eisenhower nodded. "Enough to hold up my end of a conversation. Why?"
"What does this mean?" she asked, and repeated what Delacour told her.
Eisenhower grimaced. "Did Delacour say that to you?"
"Yes."
He shook his head. "You don't want to know, and I don't think whoever Veela is would want to, either."
After the song ended some five minutes later, Minerva thanked Eisenhower again for rescuing her from Delacour and went over to Dumbledore, who was still talking to Churchill. By this time, the topic had shifted from the war to the entertainment industry. That change had come at about the same time Minerva started dancing with Eisenhower, when Dumbledore noticed a man that bore a striking resemblance to a young Armando Dippet. He did a double take when he saw the man that looked so much like the murdered headmaster, and asked Churchill if he knew who he was. Churchill replied in the affirmative and told him that he was an actor named Humphrey Bogart.
"I'll leave you two alone," Churchill said with a smile when Minerva came up to them, and excused himself.
Dumbledore took Minerva's hands, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "I'm no Joseph Stalin, but would you like to dance with me anyway?"
She smiled and replied, "You're no General Eisenhower either, but I would love to dance with you just the same."
"General Eisenhower?" Dumbledore repeated as they made their way onto the dance floor. "You danced with him, too?"
"It was an accident," she said. "I was walking toward you and Prime Minister Churchill, and... and Jean-Pierre Delacour spotted me. He asked me to dance, and I grabbed the arm of the nearest man and said I had already agreed to dance with him. It turned out to be General Eisenhower."
Dumbledore laughed. "Only you could accidently land a dance with a general, Minerva McGonagall. Only you."
"I don't understand why Delacour wanted to dance with me in the first place," Minerva said. "I mean, his wife's a veela..."
"Oh, she's not so wonderful."
"I bet you're jealous."
"I bet I'm not. Why would I want anything to do with a veela when I have you?" he asked. "I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world before I fell in love with you." Suddenly, he stopped all movement, and a pained look crossed his face. It almost felt like a bomb had gone off in his head, and the pain was so intense that he could barely stand.
Minerva helped him over to a chair, and then asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"
He pressed his hands to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. "There's something happening at Hogwarts," he answered. His voice was so constricted with pain that it was difficult to make out what he was saying. "Something... terrible..."
