Disclaimer: I am but a humble kleptomaniac. All hail Queen Rowling!
A/N: This is dedicated to Mugglemin, one very classy AD/MM shipper. I'm sorry this chapter took so long to write. I'd say it won't happen again, but it would probably be a lie. Here it is, chapter 3. Please let me know what you think.
-Edited for embarrassing typos. Thanks, Angharad.
Not In My Backyard.
Fit the third: Mending Fences.
The early morning sunlight streaming through the window woke Albus Dumbledore. He took a deep breath and rolled over on his pillow. Something tickled his nose.
Opening his eyes, he saw that Minerva had returned to human form at some point during the night. She was lying with her back to him and her long black hair was fanned out over her own pillow and part of his. He lay there for a few moments just looking at her, and noticed how the sunlight broke into rainbows as it glinted off her hair.
He let his thoughts wander as he continued to watch her. Gradually a frown of puzzlement appeared on his face.
"Minerva?"
"Mm-hmm?" came the sleepy reply.
"You know that Muggles have no real equivalent to a levitation charm?"
"Mm-hmm."
"How do they make lemon drops?"
"What?"
"Well, lemon drops are quite spherical you see. But how do they make them so, if they must leave them on a surface to set?"
"Go back to sleep, Headmaster!"
The sun was already high overhead and poking feebly through a veil of dull cloud as Harry Potter knocked on his professors' front door. There was no answer, but the door swung open beneath his touch. Cautiously he stepped inside and peered down the corridor for any signs of life. There was faint music coming from the kitchen. As he drew closer, an exaggeratedly cheerful voice cut through the synthesised beat and he realised it was the radio that he was hearing.
#And that was this weeks number 12 from PJ and Duncan, "Stuck On U", to get you all in the summer spirit!!#
Harry entered the kitchen to find Dumbledore sitting at the table, a vaguely stricken look on his face. All his attention seemed to be focussed on a small Muggle radio perched on the windowsill at the far side of the room. McGonagall was nowhere to be seen.
"So this would be what young Muggles are listening to now, Harry?" he enquired, without the preamble of a more formal greeting.
"Some of them," Harry replied, feeling somewhat wrong-footed.
"I see. I must confess, I rather hoped the young chap had made a mistake."
"Would you like me to change the station, professor?" Harry asked, crossing the room. Dumbledore seemed to consider this deeply for a moment and Harry had a sudden feeling that operating Muggle artefacts probably posed no challenge to the innocuous old man sitting before him.
"Yes. Why not" said Dumbledore Harry twirled the dial for a moment, finally coming to rest on a classical radio station. Dumbledore sighed happily.
"Ah. Brahms!" he smiled. "How Minerva detests him. No, no, Harry - leave it on"
"Excuse me, professor, but where is Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked. He was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy again. Dumbledore's face grew grave and his gaze flickered to the corner where a walking stick lay propped against a chair.
"Mrs Figg is giving her the grand tour of your neighbourhood." he explained. "Sit down, Harry" Reluctantly Harry slid into the chair opposite the headmaster's. He studied the veins of wood in the tabletop and idly traced the grooves with his fingertips. Feeling a need to break the silence he asked the first thing that came into his head
"Will she be okay?" Dumbledore smiled at the question and looked intently at Harry over the top of his glasses.
"Of course." he replied. "She is strong, and the strong will always find a way to heal, Harry. It just takes time." Harry met his gaze and nodded, mutely.
"Time" continued Dumbledore "and a little help from one's friends" He beamed at his young protégé, and waved his arms expansively. "The Beatles, Harry. Now that was Muggle music to be proud of!"
Harry Potter grinned.
The sound of the front door opening interrupted Dumbledore's rhapsody on Muggle music. A brisk summer breeze blew into the kitchen, bringing Mrs Figg and Professor McGonagall with it. Dumbledore stood and held a chair for McGonagall while Mrs Figg, with happy disregard for formal social niceties, began putting away the few groceries that the two witches had bought. This done, she put the kettle on, sat down and launched into cheerful conversation. They chatted about minor happenings in the wizarding world and Mrs Figgs shared all the local gossip, turning now and again to Harry for verification. Dumbledore listened and responded with polite interest. About an hour passed in meaningless chitchat until Harry found an opening to excuse himself. He was lost in thought as he walked the short distance back to his aunt and uncle's house. To the keen-eyed casual observer it might seem that his step was just a little lighter than it had been before.
It was quite a lot later when Arabella Figg decided it was time for her to head home. She was loathe to give up the rare opportunity for company from the wizarding world, but in good conscience she could not leave her darling cats to fend for themselves any longer. After another half-hour's protracted goodbye, she shuffled back out into the evening air. McGonagall and Dumbledore were once again left alone.
Minerva closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.
"Listen to that, Albus"
"I don't hear anything" he replied. It was true. Minerva had turned off the radio in irritation shortly after returning to the house. Everything was silent.
"Exactly!" she smiled in satisfaction.
Dumbledore looked at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Someone less familiar with this woman would probably have missed the unaccustomed tightness about her mouth and the extra tension in her shoulders. After all, Minerva was a rather tightly wound person at the best of times. His gaze rested on her face and he looked into those extraordinary, deep, dark eyes. "Stop that!" she snapped.
"Stop what?" he asked innocently.
"Albus Dumbledore, we have known each other for forty years; what possible new insight can be gained from - rummaging about inside my head?"
"I was not rum-"
"You are, Albus. I can feel you doing it!"
He chuckled and sat back, breaking eye contact.
"Alright, professor. No leglimency. But now you must answer me truthfully: how are you feeling?" For a moment, the Transfiguration Professor made no reply. Then she gave a little sigh and shrugged her shoulders.
"Perhaps I overdid things a little today," she admitted, then added; "It's nothing I can't handle, mind! I'll be fine with a little rest."
Albus removed his glasses, lay them aside, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then he rose and walked past her to the narrow kitchen bench.
"Come, Minerva" Once she was sitting beside him, he laid a gentle hand on each of her shoulders. McGonagall smiled gratefully as the ache which had been gripping her back ebbed away. As she felt herself begin to relax against him, she pulled away. They sat a few moments in familiar, companionable silence.
"You'd better be getting back." Minerva pointed out, somewhat reluctantly. He shook his head. "I think I'll stay a few moments longer, just in case our visitors wish to come inside." he said. The doorbell rang and McGonagall's look of confusion changed to one of mingled respect and exasperation. She left to answer the door. Dumbledore remained sitting and waited patiently, listening to the faint conversation his deputy was having with the man and woman who had arrived. When she returned to the kitchen she was alone, but her face was uncustomarily pale.
"Tomorrow" she informed him weakly "We are having dinner with the Dursleys".
She resumed her seat and Albus absentmindedly patted the back of her hand as they both silently contemplated the prospect of this social engagement. It seemed pretty bleak.
"They'll be missing you", she offered finally. He nodded.
"Will you-" he began.
"I'll be quite alright, thank you." she replied crisply. "I suppose you'll- "
"Of course, wouldn't miss it for the world. But for now I had better-"
"Yes you had. Albus, be-"
"I will" He rose, keeping her hand in his, and then kissed it with exaggerated flourish. Once again, he headed for the fireplace - but then stopped abruptly. The headmaster frowned slightly and turned back to his friend, who had picked up her book.
"Minerva, have you seen -?"
"They're on the table."
"No they're not"
"Try under the newspaper."
"They aren't there."
"Perhaps they've fallen, then."
"It's alright, I found them. They were under the newspaper."
A few endnotes.
1. I initially thought that Albus would like the Muggle music, but then I did a little research and found out what would have been in the British charts that week. Alas, for the dark times my generation has lived through! Surely even Dumbledore's taste isn't that broad!
2. I realise that it's terribly cliché to have the women do the shopping. My only defense is that Albus was busy talking to Harry and I just couldn't let them drink another cup of tea until I was sure they had some milk.
3. Please review and let me know what you think. And stay tuned for the next chapter : Dinner With The Dursleys. (Poor Minerva.)