6. Hiding It
A/N: Yes, Jestana-the-cat is a manifestation of myself. I couldn't resist. :-P Thanks to Filodea for her advice on what direction I should go next. Anyway, enjoy! I edited this and the next chapter because the original sequence of scenes at the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next didn't quite seem right.
Albus was waiting for them when they returned from Diagon Alley, seated on the sofa in the living room. "Oh, Father! Thank you so much for the cat!"
He chuckled as he returned his daughter's enthusiastic hug. "I'm glad you like your present."
"She's so pretty!" Tracey exclaimed, her eyes shining as she settled down beside him. "Professor McGonagall told me her name is Jestana."
"Did she now?" Albus raised an eyebrow and glanced at Minerva, who'd sat down on the other side of him. "May I see her?"
Tracey grinned and nodded, offering the silver-blue kitten to him. "Here she is, isn't she pretty?"
"Yes, she is," Albus mused, examining the kitten closely. She returned the favor, vivid green eyes wide with curiosity. "Oh, what a pretty collar."
"Collar?" Tracey looked closely at the kitten. A black cloth collar encircled the kitten's neck, a green jewel dangling from it. "That wasn't on her before."
Minerva leaned forward, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I slipped it on when you weren't looking."
"Oh, thank you, Professor!" Tracey grinned at Minerva as she accepted the kitten from her father. "It's beautiful."
Minerva nodded in acknowledgement, a small smile blooming. "What did you think of Diagon Alley, Tracey?"
"It was awesome!" Tracey exclaimed as Jestana curled up in her lap, making both of her parents chuckle.
Sandra ruffled Tracey's hair. "What did I say earlier, Tracey?"
"Mo-om," Tracey whined as Sandra sat down in an armchair facing the sofa. "It's true! I can't think of a better word to describe it!"
Albus raised his hand to forestall a response from Sandra. "I have something I must ask of you, Tracey."
"What is it, Father?" Tracey looked up at him with curiosity shining in her bright blue eyes.
There was no twinkle in his eyes as he gazed down at his daughter. "Too many questions would be asked if I were to acknowledge you as my daughter."
The excitement faded from Tracey's face. "What do you mean, Father?"
"While you are at school and we are in public, you can only treat me as the headmaster," Albus explained gently.
Both women knew how much the words cost the man, but the girl did not. She only thought he didn't want her and became angry. "Why? Do you not like me?"
"No, Tracey, no." Albus hastened to calm his daughter, but she would not be calmed.
Jumping up from her seat--and disturbing Jestana in the process--Tracey continued her rant, "All my life, I wondered about my real father. I wondered if he was alive, if he would like me. I wondered where he was, what he was doing. I wanted him to be there when I first went to school, when I first rode a bike without training wheels. I even asked Mom if I could see my real father for my birthday this year." She swallowed hard, as if fighting back tears. "Now I've finally met you and it's as if you're ashamed of me! Is there something wrong with me?"
Before any of the adults could say anything, Tracey spun around and dashed out of the room and down the hall. Only moments later, they heard the bedroom door slam shut. "Maybe I should--"
"No, Albus," Sandra's voice stopped him as he was in the middle of rising from his seat. "I'll take care of this. I think it's time you left."
He heaved a heavy sigh and straightened to his full height. "You're right, Sandra. Good day."
Minerva rose when he did and followed him from the flat. "Albus?"
"I'm fine, my dear," he assured her as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
"No, you're not," she quietly retorted. "I'm here for you, though."
He covered the hand resting on his arm with his own. "I know, my dear." He sighed again. "I know."
* * *
Reaching Tracey's bedroom door, Sandra could hear sobbing. "Is something wrong?"
She looked up at her husband. "Albus made a request of Tracey that hurt her feelings pretty bad."
"What did he ask?" Ryan asked, looking angry.
Sandra held up a hand to halt him. "He basically requested that she not reveal their relationship in public."
Ryan's anger turned to puzzlement. "Why?"
"Think about it," she told him, keeping her voice low. "He's 150 years old. Tracey's eleven. That's going to raise some eyebrows. It's more to protect her than him."
He stared down at his wife, and then looked at the closed bedroom door. "So why is Tracey crying?"
"She thinks he's ashamed of her," Sandra explained, sorrow in her face. "That she did something wrong. I was about to go in and comfort her."
Ryan stared at the closed door for a little longer before turning his gaze to his wife. "Perhaps you should let her be for now. Let her calm down a little before talking to her."
"Are you sure?" Sandra gazed doubtfully at the door.
"Yes, I'm sure," he replied, taking her arm and gently leading her away from the door. "Your son and daughter are asking for you. Their mother has been neglecting them a bit of late."
Sandra had the grace to look ashamed. "I guess I have been focusing on Tracey a lot lately." She let her husband lead her away from the bedroom door.
* * *
"Tracey?" Sandra's voice accompanied her knock. "May I come in?"
The girl scrubbed at her eyes one last time before answering. "Yes, Mom."
The door opened and Sandra slipped inside. She looked serious. "How are you feeling?"
"I have a headache," Tracey admitted, smiling slightly when Jestana jumped up onto her bed, and then onto her stomach. "Hi, Jestana."
"Of course you'd have a headache," Sandra replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Tracey's hip. "You've been crying."
Tracey sighed, absently stroking the kitten as she stared up at the ceiling. "Why, Mom? Why doesn't he want to acknowledge me?"
Sandra sighed as well, running a hand through her brown curls. "He wants to protect you, Tracey."
"Protect me?" Tracey asked, feeling the anger bubble up inside her. "How will that protect me?"
Sandra laid a hand on her daughter's hand. "Please, Tracey, calm down. He's over 150 now. People would wonder where an eleven-year-old girl claiming to be his daughter would come from and they would be suspicious of you. Better to be considered a Muggle-born than to announce your parentage. At least, right now."
Tracey struggled to reign in her temper and consider the situation logically. "So, it's not because he's ashamed, but because he doesn't want me hurt?"
Sandra nodded, raising her hand to stroke the kitten still curled up on Tracey's stomach. "Yes, exactly. I could see that it hurt him to make such a request."
"It did?" Tracey's dying anger was replaced by guilt. "Oh, and my little tirade didn't help much, either."
"No, it didn't," Sandra confirmed. "You could write to him and apologize if you like."
"I think I will," Tracey sat up, disturbing her pet. "Thanks, Mom."
"You're welcome, Tracey."
* * *
Minerva looked up when Albus Dumbledore seated himself at the breakfast table the next morning. The sorrowful expression she'd seen upon his face when she'd left him to his thoughts the previous evening was gone. In its place was a peaceful expression that she had sorely missed the past few days. "Good morning, Albus."
"It is a good morning, indeed, my dear," Albus told her, smiling gently. "I've received an owl that has greatly improved my spirits."
She smiled and patted his hand. "I'm glad to hear it, Albus. Who was it from?"
He glanced at the other teachers gathered around the table. None were paying attention to them. He leaned close. "From Tracey. She apologized for the way she acted yesterday."
"That's wonderful news," Minerva replied, her smile widening. "I worried that she would be bitter."
"As was I," he admitted as he turned to his breakfast.
A/N: Yes, Jestana-the-cat is a manifestation of myself. I couldn't resist. :-P Thanks to Filodea for her advice on what direction I should go next. Anyway, enjoy! I edited this and the next chapter because the original sequence of scenes at the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next didn't quite seem right.
Albus was waiting for them when they returned from Diagon Alley, seated on the sofa in the living room. "Oh, Father! Thank you so much for the cat!"
He chuckled as he returned his daughter's enthusiastic hug. "I'm glad you like your present."
"She's so pretty!" Tracey exclaimed, her eyes shining as she settled down beside him. "Professor McGonagall told me her name is Jestana."
"Did she now?" Albus raised an eyebrow and glanced at Minerva, who'd sat down on the other side of him. "May I see her?"
Tracey grinned and nodded, offering the silver-blue kitten to him. "Here she is, isn't she pretty?"
"Yes, she is," Albus mused, examining the kitten closely. She returned the favor, vivid green eyes wide with curiosity. "Oh, what a pretty collar."
"Collar?" Tracey looked closely at the kitten. A black cloth collar encircled the kitten's neck, a green jewel dangling from it. "That wasn't on her before."
Minerva leaned forward, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I slipped it on when you weren't looking."
"Oh, thank you, Professor!" Tracey grinned at Minerva as she accepted the kitten from her father. "It's beautiful."
Minerva nodded in acknowledgement, a small smile blooming. "What did you think of Diagon Alley, Tracey?"
"It was awesome!" Tracey exclaimed as Jestana curled up in her lap, making both of her parents chuckle.
Sandra ruffled Tracey's hair. "What did I say earlier, Tracey?"
"Mo-om," Tracey whined as Sandra sat down in an armchair facing the sofa. "It's true! I can't think of a better word to describe it!"
Albus raised his hand to forestall a response from Sandra. "I have something I must ask of you, Tracey."
"What is it, Father?" Tracey looked up at him with curiosity shining in her bright blue eyes.
There was no twinkle in his eyes as he gazed down at his daughter. "Too many questions would be asked if I were to acknowledge you as my daughter."
The excitement faded from Tracey's face. "What do you mean, Father?"
"While you are at school and we are in public, you can only treat me as the headmaster," Albus explained gently.
Both women knew how much the words cost the man, but the girl did not. She only thought he didn't want her and became angry. "Why? Do you not like me?"
"No, Tracey, no." Albus hastened to calm his daughter, but she would not be calmed.
Jumping up from her seat--and disturbing Jestana in the process--Tracey continued her rant, "All my life, I wondered about my real father. I wondered if he was alive, if he would like me. I wondered where he was, what he was doing. I wanted him to be there when I first went to school, when I first rode a bike without training wheels. I even asked Mom if I could see my real father for my birthday this year." She swallowed hard, as if fighting back tears. "Now I've finally met you and it's as if you're ashamed of me! Is there something wrong with me?"
Before any of the adults could say anything, Tracey spun around and dashed out of the room and down the hall. Only moments later, they heard the bedroom door slam shut. "Maybe I should--"
"No, Albus," Sandra's voice stopped him as he was in the middle of rising from his seat. "I'll take care of this. I think it's time you left."
He heaved a heavy sigh and straightened to his full height. "You're right, Sandra. Good day."
Minerva rose when he did and followed him from the flat. "Albus?"
"I'm fine, my dear," he assured her as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
"No, you're not," she quietly retorted. "I'm here for you, though."
He covered the hand resting on his arm with his own. "I know, my dear." He sighed again. "I know."
* * *
Reaching Tracey's bedroom door, Sandra could hear sobbing. "Is something wrong?"
She looked up at her husband. "Albus made a request of Tracey that hurt her feelings pretty bad."
"What did he ask?" Ryan asked, looking angry.
Sandra held up a hand to halt him. "He basically requested that she not reveal their relationship in public."
Ryan's anger turned to puzzlement. "Why?"
"Think about it," she told him, keeping her voice low. "He's 150 years old. Tracey's eleven. That's going to raise some eyebrows. It's more to protect her than him."
He stared down at his wife, and then looked at the closed bedroom door. "So why is Tracey crying?"
"She thinks he's ashamed of her," Sandra explained, sorrow in her face. "That she did something wrong. I was about to go in and comfort her."
Ryan stared at the closed door for a little longer before turning his gaze to his wife. "Perhaps you should let her be for now. Let her calm down a little before talking to her."
"Are you sure?" Sandra gazed doubtfully at the door.
"Yes, I'm sure," he replied, taking her arm and gently leading her away from the door. "Your son and daughter are asking for you. Their mother has been neglecting them a bit of late."
Sandra had the grace to look ashamed. "I guess I have been focusing on Tracey a lot lately." She let her husband lead her away from the bedroom door.
* * *
"Tracey?" Sandra's voice accompanied her knock. "May I come in?"
The girl scrubbed at her eyes one last time before answering. "Yes, Mom."
The door opened and Sandra slipped inside. She looked serious. "How are you feeling?"
"I have a headache," Tracey admitted, smiling slightly when Jestana jumped up onto her bed, and then onto her stomach. "Hi, Jestana."
"Of course you'd have a headache," Sandra replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Tracey's hip. "You've been crying."
Tracey sighed, absently stroking the kitten as she stared up at the ceiling. "Why, Mom? Why doesn't he want to acknowledge me?"
Sandra sighed as well, running a hand through her brown curls. "He wants to protect you, Tracey."
"Protect me?" Tracey asked, feeling the anger bubble up inside her. "How will that protect me?"
Sandra laid a hand on her daughter's hand. "Please, Tracey, calm down. He's over 150 now. People would wonder where an eleven-year-old girl claiming to be his daughter would come from and they would be suspicious of you. Better to be considered a Muggle-born than to announce your parentage. At least, right now."
Tracey struggled to reign in her temper and consider the situation logically. "So, it's not because he's ashamed, but because he doesn't want me hurt?"
Sandra nodded, raising her hand to stroke the kitten still curled up on Tracey's stomach. "Yes, exactly. I could see that it hurt him to make such a request."
"It did?" Tracey's dying anger was replaced by guilt. "Oh, and my little tirade didn't help much, either."
"No, it didn't," Sandra confirmed. "You could write to him and apologize if you like."
"I think I will," Tracey sat up, disturbing her pet. "Thanks, Mom."
"You're welcome, Tracey."
* * *
Minerva looked up when Albus Dumbledore seated himself at the breakfast table the next morning. The sorrowful expression she'd seen upon his face when she'd left him to his thoughts the previous evening was gone. In its place was a peaceful expression that she had sorely missed the past few days. "Good morning, Albus."
"It is a good morning, indeed, my dear," Albus told her, smiling gently. "I've received an owl that has greatly improved my spirits."
She smiled and patted his hand. "I'm glad to hear it, Albus. Who was it from?"
He glanced at the other teachers gathered around the table. None were paying attention to them. He leaned close. "From Tracey. She apologized for the way she acted yesterday."
"That's wonderful news," Minerva replied, her smile widening. "I worried that she would be bitter."
"As was I," he admitted as he turned to his breakfast.