Chapter Seven

A week passed, and every day Poppy went to visit Minerva. Albus had, via Madam Rosmerta, asked her to, but she would have gone anyway. She could, however, not get to know for sure whether the baby was dead or alive. It was silly of her to still hope, perhaps, but it was sheer impossible for her to accept the other possibility. It was so unfair! Albus and Minerva had spent years and years together- not once had the chance of pregnancy occurred to them, but they had both wanted kids. Poppy was, and had always been, sure of that.

And as she sat there, next to her friend, holding the pale, unconscious Minerva's slender hand, she really wished she could perform a diagnosis charm and be at least sure. But she knew she couldn't. Being an intimate friend of both the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, there was no chance whatsoever to be left alone with the ill Minerva. Discretely yet still painfully obviously present in the corner of the room was placed a Ministry Official, and he didn't leave the room until Poppy herself had left, after mostly about an hour.

She talked to Minerva, though- of course she did, the way she'd always talked to Minerva. About trivialities, mostly- the daily life at Hogwarts, well, as far as there still was something like a "daily life" with the so-called High Inquisitor around.

She told Minerva that "her students missed her a lot"- which was true, but not at all satisfying to Poppy and, if she could hear it, not to Minerva either, the Mediwitch knew. Only just before she left she managed to whisper a few words in her friend's ear- mostly little messages from the Headmaster, passed on via, again, Madam Rosmerta.

"Love from Albus, Minerva."... "He loves you, Minerva." ... "Get well soon, Minerva, he's waiting..."...

After a week, though, she decided it had been enough. The Ministry had power- yes, perhaps, even though it wasn't rightful. But did the Ministry really have the power to control, nothing less than control, the private life of the two nicest as well as wisest people of their age?

So Poppy Pomfrey- ever the Ravenclaw- gathered the Gryffindor courage she didn't even know she possessed and ran over to her cousin's- because despite their outward and inner differences, Poppy Pomfrey and Madam Rosmerta's- officially Rosmerta Pomfrey- fathers had been brothers. Poppy had to talk to Albus. She had to.

She owed it to Minerva.

"Rosa! Rosa, it's Poppy, open up, please!"

Poppy Pomfrey banged her chubby fist against the ebony wooden door of the Three Broomsticks, anxious to not be seen by any Ministry-related wizard or witch.

"Rosa, come on!"

Sheer moments later, she was quickly dragged inside by an obviously taken aback Rosmerta, her blue eyes big with surprise.

"Poppy, can you stop yelling that hated nickname through the streets of Hogsmeade- or should I start calling you "Pamela" again?"

Shivering at the thought of her way-too-muggle despised real first name, Poppy shook her head, but her own, brown eyes shone with seriousness.

"Rosmerta, I'm sorry, I know you're not open yet, but can I please speak to Albus? I've visited Minerva again today..."

Rosmerta's clear eyes faintly blurred at the mentioning of their mutual friend's name, and with a rather softened facial expression, she beckoned her cousin.

"In my upper chamber- follow me."

As Poppy ascended the broad, steep stairs of the inn behind her cousin, Rosmerta slowly shook her head.

"I've never seen him so sad before- so angry, too. I knew he loved her, I did, I attended their goddamn wedding- but this..."

Poppy nodded, though, and a faint smile formed on her lips as she remember that blissful summer day, about ten years earlier, when Professor Minerva McGonagall had, at least, in secret, become Professor Minerva Dumbledore. Minerva had been so very happy- and Poppy couldn't suppress some tears in her eyes as she inwardly saw her friend as she'd left her some hours earlier. The strange similarity between the white, cotton sheets of the hospital and the feverish redness of Minerva's cheeks, and her long, white wedding dress and the blush of happiness of her wedding day, was almost an irony of nature to her- an irony of life.

"I have never met two other persons in love the way Albus and Minerva are."

"Oh no?"

Despite the situation they were in, a slight giggle escaped Rosmerta's lips.

"What about you and Alastor? You're quite a cute couple yourselves!"

But Poppy remained serious and shook her head, slowly and earnestly.

"It is something different. I adore Alastor, I love him and he loves me, but Albus and Minerva aren't just two people who love each other- they are one. They're always together- they argue, yes, but never... It is something I can't explain. I've been around them for so many years, and even before their marriage there was something between them- a unity, a mutual kindness, an- I know it's a cliché- an electricity. Their eyes link, their hands touch and it's there- not Albus, not Minerva, but the entity Albus-and-Minerva. They don't love- they are love. In its purest, most ancient form- tale as old as time, and yet so different, so unique."

Poppy was out of breath after this short speech, but the tears in her cousin's already watery eyes proved she had succeeded.

"I see- I see, Poppy, I really... I really do."

With this, Rosmerta opened the ebony door, and there, at a small desk, looking all of a sudden at least twenty years older, eyes red and swollen- he'd cried, though he'd never admit it- sat Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore. A man, a wizard- not yet broken but driven right to the edge.

And all of a sudden, Poppy knew it.

She knew it.

This wasn't about Minerva's life, not about the baby's even.

This was about the life of a family.

About Minerva's and the baby's- and about Albus's.