Chapter Eight

"Albus..."

When she spoke his name, he looked up. His forehead was more wrinkled than she'd ever seen it- his ever-twinkling blue eyes were watery and weak as he forced a faint smile upon his thin lips. Ever the gentleman, he immediately rose from his chair and made a curt bow.

"Good afternoon, Poppy. How- how are you?"

He had recovered fast enough- but years as a School Nurse had gifted Poppy with the ears of the quickest of cats, and she had immediately noticed his short hesitation. His short hesitation and the faint, yet obviously present sparkle of hope in his nearly-defeated sapphire eyes... It broke her heart when she realized that his question "How are you?" meant rather something like "How is Minerva?"... and not because she felt hurt or anything. Oh no- not at all. Of course Minerva was the first and the last person he thought of now. What bothered her wasn't that- it was the fact that she had to disappoint him, on top of all his other worries.

"I am fine, Albus. Just fine."

He nodded, slowly sinking back onto his chair. His slightly raised eyebrows quickly descended back to their former level, and, with difficulty keeping that sad smile on his face, he nodded, obviously pulling himself together.

"That's good to hear. And Hogwarts? How is the staff- how are the students?"

He was asking her about everyone except the only person he really wanted to hear about, Poppy realized, and she shut him up by covering his shaking, wrinkled hand with her own chubby one.

"Minerva is as alright as is possible in her condition, Albus."

He swallowed and nodded.

"Of course she is- yes, of course. She's a lioness, after all- she'll..."

He didn't finish his sentence. Poppy knew the mighty Headmaster was trying to put on a brave face for Minerva's sake, for the world's sake, but she was a Mediwitch after all. As in her function of Mediwitch she was trained to see when a burden became too much for just one person to carry- and as a Mediwitch as well as a friend she knew she had to break through Albus's façade for his own sake.

"Albus, you don't have to be brave all the time..."

He looked up to her again, and Poppy slowly shook her head at the unspoken question in those deep puddles of sadness. Then, slowly and seemingly calmly, he rested his head on his arms and cried.

It was a strange sight, Poppy realized, as she, unconsciously, bowed over to him and observed him with an almost professional look. Rosmerta, behind her, audibly gasped as she, too, saw what was going on.

Poppy had, in her long career as Mediwitch, seen many people cry- students, teachers, parents- adults and children alike. And, unlike so many others, Albus had always been to her one of those indestructible people, one of those creatures who could carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and still smile, one of those rare wizards who had the uncommon flexibility to live through no matter what, and stay nice, strong and brave.

Now a whole other Dumbledore was shown, and Poppy Pomfrey could hardly oppress a gasp as sudden realization dawned- a realization which few ever reached and many thought impossible.

Albus Dumbledore was human.

Very human, and as he looked up again, she realized that what she had thought previously was wrong. He didn't cry the way all those students, teachers, adults, children, had done through the years.

He didn't cry for himself.

Or in a very special way, yes, perhaps he did. But most of all he cried for Minerva, she knew, and Poppy, too, felt for about the thousandth time the blade called Pity rip her heart apart. It was her friend, her very best friend, who lay there in that hospital bed. That tall, willowy girl with her black braid who Poppy had met during their very first day at Hogwarts had transformed into the formidable woman with her trademark bun, but the inner Minerva, the witch inside, had never changed. And if anyone didn't deserve a fate like Minerva was apparently doomed to, then it was her. She had, through all strictness and sarcasm, always been selflessness itself, courage, kindness, too, for those in desperate need of it.

Was this the fate of the good, then? Minerva was fighting for her life, Poppy knew, but despite her medical knowledge, she was confident. Medics were fine, but the strength of a spirit could do or undo a lot, and if any spirit had ever been strong... Minerva would live- she had to, she just had to!- but the child... Poppy knew she could not be entirely sure, but for herself she had long ago decided that it was sheer impossible that a small, helpless, hardly grown baby could survive something which had rendered the strongest witch of the century into such a dangerous state of unconsciousness. Even if that baby happened to be the product of two such powerful people as the Headmaster and his Deputy were... Everything she'd ever learnt, ever seen, despite her hopes, opposed to such a remarkable survival. It was impossible, and even the mighty Albus Dumbledore would have to bow for Impossibility...

"Albus, she will survive... she will..." she heard her own voice, softly, soothingly, utter before she gently hugged one of the oldest friends she had.

"She will, she'll fight, Albus, she always fights! She won't give up- she'll live. She will live for you, please, please believe me..."

She kept on muttering soft, calming words to him- hardly noticed that her cousin had disappeared from the room. As the door literally slammed open again, though, both she and Albus stared at Rosmerta, who stood in the doorframe, as if she'd gone entirely mad.

Rosmerta's usually blushing face was death pale, her blue eyes big and shocked, her painted lips slightly parted as she uttered

"I- I... someone rang the bell... it's time to open... and my first customers..."

"Who?" Poppy asked, fearing the worst and getting it indeed...

"Fudge and Umbridge."