Visions in the Night Sky
Chapter 3: Reverberation
Minerva McGonagall paced back and forth in front of Albus Dumbledore's desk. He was sitting back in his chair, his head resting in one hand while he watched with a bemused look as the bespectacled witch sputtered as she slowly wore a hole in the rug before the desk.
"This has gone far enough, Albus. Something should be done. Someone should say something to them. I don't have to tell you what could happen if Severus gets his heart broken. It's not going to be a pretty picture, Albus, I tell you what. And Merewen! She's far too young for him and he knows it! She should be seeing a young man closer to her own age! Speaking of that, who's to say that she isn't? Poor Severus is pining over a young woman who doesn't even know the damage she's causing her own teacher!" Minerva cried, occasionally wringing her hands as she paced and talked at the same time. Albus fought a chuckle. If Minerva could hear herself!
"You know, my dear, the same could have been said of us in our day," Albus commented. Minerva stopped and fixed him with a look of dry irritation.
"We're different."
"How so, my love?"
Albus gave his beloved a playful smile. Minerva's look of determination melted into one of helpless frustration as she threw up her hands before folding them over her chest and turning away from him. She hated to lose an argument as it was, let alone the fact that most of the time, Albus was right. Dumbledore rose from his chair and joined Minerva across the room. He folded his hands around her upper arms and chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her temple. He turned Minerva to face him. She was still pouting and her chin quivered.
"Minerva, who are you more worried about? Them or you?" Albus asked.
"What are you talking about?" asked Minerva.
"You're afraid that Severus will have his heart broken and that you will have to be there to pick up the pieces and put them back together again. You're afraid that if you don't control the situation now it will spin out and when it does, you won't be able to help them. You don't have control and it frightens you," Albus said calmly.
"That's not true!"
"Oh really?" he fired back. "When we went to Geneva for that conference on the illicit use of puffskeins in deviant practices who packed my bags? It certainly was not me."
"You were going to pack those awful green socks to go with your favorite robes and I stick to what I said, the weather in Geneva never holds. You weren't packing anything appropriate to the weather I was expecting and--"
"Minerva, did it rain in Geneva that weekend?"
"---"
"Exactly. Love is precisely as predictable as the weather in Geneva. You must let Severus and Merewen sort out their feelings. So far as I've seen, Merewen does not return his affection in the same manner. It is true that he is beginning to exhibit behaviors to suggest that he is infatuated with Merewen, but she thus far seems to only admire him as a Master and Teacher. Let them be, my Minerva. If it becomes too serious a problem, I promise, we will intervene," Albus replied. Minerva seemed satisfied. She leaned into Albus' arms and let him hold her, for a while. She sniffled away the rest of the tears that had not quite escaped her eyes and returned his embrace. Still very much wrapped in one another's arms, Albus and Minerva turned and made off in the direction of their bedroom. Minerva was, after all, Albus' wife.
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Albus was pulling his nightshirt over his head when Minerva emerged from their bathroom with her toothbrush in her mouth, her hair still half up, and her spectacles still on her nose. As soon as Albus stood up from the bed, Minerva began to pull the covers down. As Albus reached to help her, she started in again.
"..ee ould at east uoo some-ing abou is ing wit Severus and Merewen," Minerva stated with her mouth still full of toothpaste.
"I told you, my dear, we will only intervene if necessary," said Albus, smoothing the sheets.
" on't for-et to pueh ou your cothes foh tomorroh, Albus," Minerva said, her tartan bathrobe loosely covering her white linen nightgown.
"Spit out your toothpaste my dear before you swallow it," Albus advised. "I would hate to have to explain to the school how you died choking on your toothpaste while trying to remind a 156 year old man of his evening routine." There was a spitting noise, a mouth-rinsing noise, the water running, and then the clink of Minerva's toothbrush hitting the cup on the bathroom counter.
"You'll pay for that one, Albus Dumbledore," Minerva threatened, removing her robe and hanging it neatly on the bedpost before carefully lifting the covers and crawling in beside him.
"How? Will you rearrange my sock drawer next?"
Minerva could feel the vein in her neck starting to pulse harder.
"You mean sock *dresser*. The collection takes up all of one of my hope chests," Minerva muttered.
"I suppose your collection of every-object-with-a-tartan-pattern is any smaller?" he quipped. She swatted at him and Albus laughed, capturing her mouth in a warm kiss. When he pulled back, they were both smiling.
"I sincerely hope that if Severus and Merewen ever do wind up together, they don't bicker as we do," Minerva chuckled. Albus traced her face with his finger, sweeping a segment of hair from her eyes.
"Oh, my Minerva, I hope they do. What better reason to make up?" Albus murmured.
"You crazy old man!" Minerva laughed.
"Old am I?" Albus smiled, kissing her again. "Well, Mrs. Dumbledore, let me show you what this crazy old man is capable of!"
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