15. Winter Holidays
A/N: The scene in the previous chapter, where Albus tickles Tracey's feet, is a tribute, of sorts, to my own dad, who loves to tickle feet. Enjoy this chappie!
"Mom?" Tracey's voice distracted Sandra from the book she was reading several days before Christmas.
She looked up to find her daughter standing beside her chair, looking sober. "Yes, Tracey?"
"Can we talk?" Tracey requested, fidgeting with the hem of the sweater.
Sandra marked her place in the book and set it aside. "Of course."
"In private?" Tracey added, glancing in the direction of the family room, where Ryan was playing with Lynda and Jeffrey.
Sandra nodded and led the way to the master bedroom. When they had settled on the bed, Tracey sitting cross-legged and Sandra with her feet tucked under her, Sandra asked, "Okay, Tracey, what did you want to talk about?"
"Did you know that there's something between Father and Professor McGonagall?" Tracey asked without preamble.
Sandra blinked, startled by this confirmation of her suspicions. "No, but I hoped there was."
"Well, they're engaged," Tracey told her mother bluntly.
Sandra smiled, glad that Albus wouldn't be alone, as she'd feared he would be. "How wonderful!"
Tracey nodded, but there was no sign of the twinkle that told Sandra her daughter was happy in the bright blue eyes. "Yes, wonderful."
"Tracey?" Sandra touched her daughter's shoulder. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Tracey shrugged, avoiding her mother's hazel gaze. "Maybe."
"Why don't you tell me?" Sandra suggested quietly, wondering if all the changes since the summer were affecting her daughter more than Tracey let on. "Maybe I can help you."
Tracey shrugged again, picking at the bedspread. "I don't know, Mom. I can't quite explain it to myself."
"I won't push, but you know where I am if you need to talk." Sandra squeezed Tracey's shoulder reassuringly.
Tracey nodded, smiling faintly as she covered her mother's hand with her own. "I know, Mom, I know."
Minerva was not surprised to find Albus waiting for her when she returned to her rooms after making sure all her young lions had safely returned to Gryffindor Tower after the Yule Ball. "Hello, Minerva."
"Hello, Albus," she replied, content to let him guide her to the sofa and sit down.
Rather than let her curl up against him, however, he began to massage her neck and shoulders. She sighed and let her chin fall to her chest. By the time Albus finished, she was too relaxed to object when he pulled the pins from her hair and let it flow down her back. "Your hair is beautiful, my love. Why do you keep it pulled back all the time?"
"Because it would just get in the way if I did not," she replied, stretching out on the sofa with her head in his lap.
He chuckled and idly stroked her hair. "Minerva, I am quite glad that you accepted my proposal of marriage, but we still need to set a date."
"I know, Albus, but do you think it would be wise to do so at this time?" she asked softly. "Our courtship was very brief after all."
An amused twinkle appeared in the bright blue eyes above her. "We have known each other for close to sixty years, Minerva, and I have loved you for fifty of them. Do you really think a long engagement is necessary?"
"You have loved me for that long?" she asked, surprised.
He nodded, tracing her eyebrows with the tip of one long, thin finger. "Yes, my dear, I have."
"All that time," she murmured, turning her head to gaze into the fire. "All those years, you loved me and I loved you and neither of us said a word."
He chuckled. "Rather odd, considering we were both Gryffindors."
"And still are, Albus," she added indignantly.
He stroked her hair soothingly. "Shh, Tabby, shh. I never said you were not anymore. You have just mellowed with age."
She arched an eyebrow at him, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "You have not."
"I certainly hope not," he answered, his eyes twinkling merrily. "I have a reputation to maintain."
The smile appeared as she reached up to stroke his cheek, "And I would not have you any other way."
"This is not settling the question of when we should be married," he commented, even as he turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand.
She sighed. "Why do we need to settle it now, Albus?"
"Why do you want to put it off, Minerva?" he asked, smoothing her hair back from her face. "You always like to know when things are going to happen, yet you do not want to set a date for our wedding."
She sat up, feeling the tension begin to return to her muscles. "Albus, I cannot answer the question because I do not know myself. Lately, I find myself unwilling to think of setting a date for our wedding."
"Do you not want to marry me, then?" The crestfallen tone of his voice broke her heart.
Turning swiftly, she cradled his face between her hands and waited until his eyes met hers. "I could never regret saying yes to you, Albus Dumbledore. You are my love, my life, and my all. I cannot imagine a life without you, either as my dearest friend or my husband."
"I'm so glad, Minerva." He gathered her to him in a fierce hug. "I was afraid you would have second thoughts about marrying me."
She hugged him back. "Never, Albus. I have dreamed of marrying you for years."
"So, why not set a date?" he asked, his voice rumbling beneath her cheek.
She pulled back and looked up at him. "Very well. What date would you like?"
"Sometime in the summer?" he suggested. "So we can enjoy our honeymoon?"
She smiled, kissing the tip of his crooked nose. "How does the end of June sound to you?"
"Perfect," he replied before kissing her. She gladly kissed him back, her arms encircling his neck.
When Tracey returned to Hogwarts, she found a note waiting for her on her bed. It was from Professor McGonagall, requesting Tracey's presence in the professor's office. Wondering what was going on, Tracey made her way down to the first floor office. She knocked on the door and poked her head inside when Professor McGonagall called, "Come in!"
"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Tracey asked, a little unsure of what to do.
Professor McGonagall looked up from the scroll she was reading. "Yes, Miss Cooper, please come in."
"Um, okay," Tracey entered the office and closed the door behind her. "What did you want to see me about?"
The professor gestured to a tartan tin on her desk. "Have a biscuit?"
"A what?" Tracey stared at the tin, confused. "Those are cookies."
Was that a smile that twitched at the corner of the Deputy Headmistress' mouth? "They are called biscuits here in England."
"Oh." Tracey studied them for a moment. "What kind of cookies, uh, biscuits, are they?"
That was definitely a smile. "Ginger Newts."
A little cautiously, Tracey plucked a cookie from the tin and nibbled it. After pausing to let the taste register, she took a larger bite. "This is good."
"I am glad you like them," the Transfiguration professor commented, all signs of amusement gone from her face.
Tracey noticed the change and asked, "Why did you want to see me, Professor?"
"I wanted to remind you to keep certain things to yourself," Professor McGonagall told Tracey quietly.
Tracey blinked, a little annoyed. "Professor, I'll be twelve in July. You don't need to treat me like a child."
"You are still a child, Miss Cooper," was the gentle reply, "whether you choose to accept it or not."
Tracey stood and, bracing her hands on the desk, told the professor, "I told my mother over the winter holidays because I knew she would want to know. I haven't told anyone else and she knows better than to tell. I learned how to keep secrets from my mother. She kept one from her own children for eleven years. I doubt Lynda and Jeff know the full truth. Of course, they're a little young to understand, but that's beside the point."
"What is your point, Miss Cooper?" Professor McGonagall asked, the Scottish burr in her voice becoming more pronounced.
Tracey missed the warning sign, too caught up in her own feelings. "My point is that I'm not a baby. I'm growing up. Maybe you can't see it, but Mom does. She treats me like an adult. She tells me things because she feels I should know them. What she hasn't told me, she will when she thinks I can handle it."
"I will keep that in mind, Miss Cooper," Professor McGonagall's voice had lost the burr, but it was cool and crisp. "You may go now."
Scowling, Tracey straightened and walked to the door. At the door, she paused to add, "Just because I'm a student doesn't mean you can't trust me."
Tracey carefully shut the door behind her to keep from slamming it before returning to Gryffindor Tower. Minerva stared at the door Tracey closed behind her, wondering what had gone wrong.
A/N: The scene in the previous chapter, where Albus tickles Tracey's feet, is a tribute, of sorts, to my own dad, who loves to tickle feet. Enjoy this chappie!
"Mom?" Tracey's voice distracted Sandra from the book she was reading several days before Christmas.
She looked up to find her daughter standing beside her chair, looking sober. "Yes, Tracey?"
"Can we talk?" Tracey requested, fidgeting with the hem of the sweater.
Sandra marked her place in the book and set it aside. "Of course."
"In private?" Tracey added, glancing in the direction of the family room, where Ryan was playing with Lynda and Jeffrey.
Sandra nodded and led the way to the master bedroom. When they had settled on the bed, Tracey sitting cross-legged and Sandra with her feet tucked under her, Sandra asked, "Okay, Tracey, what did you want to talk about?"
"Did you know that there's something between Father and Professor McGonagall?" Tracey asked without preamble.
Sandra blinked, startled by this confirmation of her suspicions. "No, but I hoped there was."
"Well, they're engaged," Tracey told her mother bluntly.
Sandra smiled, glad that Albus wouldn't be alone, as she'd feared he would be. "How wonderful!"
Tracey nodded, but there was no sign of the twinkle that told Sandra her daughter was happy in the bright blue eyes. "Yes, wonderful."
"Tracey?" Sandra touched her daughter's shoulder. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Tracey shrugged, avoiding her mother's hazel gaze. "Maybe."
"Why don't you tell me?" Sandra suggested quietly, wondering if all the changes since the summer were affecting her daughter more than Tracey let on. "Maybe I can help you."
Tracey shrugged again, picking at the bedspread. "I don't know, Mom. I can't quite explain it to myself."
"I won't push, but you know where I am if you need to talk." Sandra squeezed Tracey's shoulder reassuringly.
Tracey nodded, smiling faintly as she covered her mother's hand with her own. "I know, Mom, I know."
Minerva was not surprised to find Albus waiting for her when she returned to her rooms after making sure all her young lions had safely returned to Gryffindor Tower after the Yule Ball. "Hello, Minerva."
"Hello, Albus," she replied, content to let him guide her to the sofa and sit down.
Rather than let her curl up against him, however, he began to massage her neck and shoulders. She sighed and let her chin fall to her chest. By the time Albus finished, she was too relaxed to object when he pulled the pins from her hair and let it flow down her back. "Your hair is beautiful, my love. Why do you keep it pulled back all the time?"
"Because it would just get in the way if I did not," she replied, stretching out on the sofa with her head in his lap.
He chuckled and idly stroked her hair. "Minerva, I am quite glad that you accepted my proposal of marriage, but we still need to set a date."
"I know, Albus, but do you think it would be wise to do so at this time?" she asked softly. "Our courtship was very brief after all."
An amused twinkle appeared in the bright blue eyes above her. "We have known each other for close to sixty years, Minerva, and I have loved you for fifty of them. Do you really think a long engagement is necessary?"
"You have loved me for that long?" she asked, surprised.
He nodded, tracing her eyebrows with the tip of one long, thin finger. "Yes, my dear, I have."
"All that time," she murmured, turning her head to gaze into the fire. "All those years, you loved me and I loved you and neither of us said a word."
He chuckled. "Rather odd, considering we were both Gryffindors."
"And still are, Albus," she added indignantly.
He stroked her hair soothingly. "Shh, Tabby, shh. I never said you were not anymore. You have just mellowed with age."
She arched an eyebrow at him, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "You have not."
"I certainly hope not," he answered, his eyes twinkling merrily. "I have a reputation to maintain."
The smile appeared as she reached up to stroke his cheek, "And I would not have you any other way."
"This is not settling the question of when we should be married," he commented, even as he turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand.
She sighed. "Why do we need to settle it now, Albus?"
"Why do you want to put it off, Minerva?" he asked, smoothing her hair back from her face. "You always like to know when things are going to happen, yet you do not want to set a date for our wedding."
She sat up, feeling the tension begin to return to her muscles. "Albus, I cannot answer the question because I do not know myself. Lately, I find myself unwilling to think of setting a date for our wedding."
"Do you not want to marry me, then?" The crestfallen tone of his voice broke her heart.
Turning swiftly, she cradled his face between her hands and waited until his eyes met hers. "I could never regret saying yes to you, Albus Dumbledore. You are my love, my life, and my all. I cannot imagine a life without you, either as my dearest friend or my husband."
"I'm so glad, Minerva." He gathered her to him in a fierce hug. "I was afraid you would have second thoughts about marrying me."
She hugged him back. "Never, Albus. I have dreamed of marrying you for years."
"So, why not set a date?" he asked, his voice rumbling beneath her cheek.
She pulled back and looked up at him. "Very well. What date would you like?"
"Sometime in the summer?" he suggested. "So we can enjoy our honeymoon?"
She smiled, kissing the tip of his crooked nose. "How does the end of June sound to you?"
"Perfect," he replied before kissing her. She gladly kissed him back, her arms encircling his neck.
When Tracey returned to Hogwarts, she found a note waiting for her on her bed. It was from Professor McGonagall, requesting Tracey's presence in the professor's office. Wondering what was going on, Tracey made her way down to the first floor office. She knocked on the door and poked her head inside when Professor McGonagall called, "Come in!"
"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Tracey asked, a little unsure of what to do.
Professor McGonagall looked up from the scroll she was reading. "Yes, Miss Cooper, please come in."
"Um, okay," Tracey entered the office and closed the door behind her. "What did you want to see me about?"
The professor gestured to a tartan tin on her desk. "Have a biscuit?"
"A what?" Tracey stared at the tin, confused. "Those are cookies."
Was that a smile that twitched at the corner of the Deputy Headmistress' mouth? "They are called biscuits here in England."
"Oh." Tracey studied them for a moment. "What kind of cookies, uh, biscuits, are they?"
That was definitely a smile. "Ginger Newts."
A little cautiously, Tracey plucked a cookie from the tin and nibbled it. After pausing to let the taste register, she took a larger bite. "This is good."
"I am glad you like them," the Transfiguration professor commented, all signs of amusement gone from her face.
Tracey noticed the change and asked, "Why did you want to see me, Professor?"
"I wanted to remind you to keep certain things to yourself," Professor McGonagall told Tracey quietly.
Tracey blinked, a little annoyed. "Professor, I'll be twelve in July. You don't need to treat me like a child."
"You are still a child, Miss Cooper," was the gentle reply, "whether you choose to accept it or not."
Tracey stood and, bracing her hands on the desk, told the professor, "I told my mother over the winter holidays because I knew she would want to know. I haven't told anyone else and she knows better than to tell. I learned how to keep secrets from my mother. She kept one from her own children for eleven years. I doubt Lynda and Jeff know the full truth. Of course, they're a little young to understand, but that's beside the point."
"What is your point, Miss Cooper?" Professor McGonagall asked, the Scottish burr in her voice becoming more pronounced.
Tracey missed the warning sign, too caught up in her own feelings. "My point is that I'm not a baby. I'm growing up. Maybe you can't see it, but Mom does. She treats me like an adult. She tells me things because she feels I should know them. What she hasn't told me, she will when she thinks I can handle it."
"I will keep that in mind, Miss Cooper," Professor McGonagall's voice had lost the burr, but it was cool and crisp. "You may go now."
Scowling, Tracey straightened and walked to the door. At the door, she paused to add, "Just because I'm a student doesn't mean you can't trust me."
Tracey carefully shut the door behind her to keep from slamming it before returning to Gryffindor Tower. Minerva stared at the door Tracey closed behind her, wondering what had gone wrong.