Chapter Nineteen

As the first, sharp wave of pain shot through Minerva's back- only to slowly, slowly subside again- her eyes opened immediately, and in the dark, she laboriously turned her head to look at the magically illuminated clock on her bedside table. Two o'clock in the morning, December 28th.

It couldn't be. She'd been dreaming- yes, of course she had been merely dreaming. She had always had a somewhat lively imagination, after all, and the fact that the pain had seemed terribly real did not change anything after all. It was too early. Of course it was.

Drowsily, already half asleep once more, her eyelids were lowered again- but as the second jolt rushing through her spine made her toes curl with pain, all thoughts of sleep were forgotten- and for a moment, she panicked. It was hard to admit, even to herself, but Minerva McGonagall was panicking, and it was with trembling hands that she shook the sleeping form of her husband. His arms were folded protectively around her waist, the way they always were, and his initial, only reply to her touch was a deep sigh- followed by his face snuggling closer into her hair.

"Albus!"

The man she loved so much looked positively like an idiot, Minerva thought, as, in obvious confusion and sleepiness, his blue eyes fluttered open and he stared at her, eyesight obviously vague due to the lack of his glasses on the bridge of his long, crooked nose. Almost automatically, though, they closed again, preparing to return to dreamland- and Minerva gritted her teeth. Greatest wizard of all times- sure- but totally useless at two o'clock in the morning! The next shot of pain was almost paralyzing- and her next words were equally strong.

"Albus, your wife is giving birth, for God's sake!"

Minerva had to admit that she'd underestimated the physical condition of her husband, though- before within two seconds, the grey-haired wizard sat straight up in bed, eyes opened as if they would never close again. His question, though, was quite ridiculous indeed.
"Are you sure?"

Minerva's voice sounded uncharacteristically hysterical as she balled her fists to prevent herself from slapping her husband.

"How would I know, Albus, seeing it is not anything I have EVER EXPERIENCED BEFORE!"

The flame of sheer panic enlightening his clear, blue eyes for a second, though, calmed her nerves down immediately. This was very characteristic to her- she knew herself well indeed. Minerva had always been the calmest, the most pulled together, in crisis situations. Whatever she felt was forgotten then- only the result counted, the solution- and she did not hesitate at those times, when action was all that was needed.

Like now. She was still lying down, true- back half-arched as a new cramp attacked her abdomen, hands stroking her own belly so as to try to calm it down- in vain, and yet something in her eyes was "Minerva" again. It was the calm, commanding look of a woman who had pulled herself together- and in a way, it was also the gaze of many, many woman through the ages- a prehistoric sort of realization that the time had come and that there was nothing to do about it.

"Albus, go fetch Poppy."

She couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from twitching as another wave of pain engulfed her, causing Albus to sit down beside her for a moment, resting a wrinkled hand against her forehead.

"Minerva- I can't leave you alone now."

The witch felt a sudden urge to roll her eyes, to snap- but the sincere look of worry- and adoration- in his eyes, kept her from it, and she even slightly smiled as she rested a pale, now sweaty hand against his cheek.

"You're a very noble knight indeed, my Lord- but I do fear that this is a business for which even knights have to abandon their lady for a couple of minutes…"

Her soft, humorous tone, the Scottish lilt ever so obvious, echoed through the room- and Minerva knew that it somehow helped to enlighten the mood a little. She knew he was very nervous- he had not for nothing been fussing over her constantly during the last, two months of her pregnancy- but then again, so was she. For exactly that reason, really- because the "last two months of her pregnancy", actually were supposed to be the sixth and seventh month. Her child, as if the other… circumstances of her pregnancy hadn't been dangerous enough, would be born two months too early on top of it all. Because of that she had not the least doubt- it would be born now.
Whether it would be alive- or dead- that she did not know.

But the spreading wetness against the insides of her thighs did prove for a fact that it, he, she, was coming- and she, Minerva, would be ready to receive. Oh yes she would.

A curt, determined nod of her raven-haired head was the last reassurance the witch's husband needed, before, with a quick kiss and the assurance of his being back within half a minute, leaving the room.

And Minerva simply leant back onto the cushions, secretly praying- but that she admitted only to herself- that indeed he would be back soon.