Breathe.
December 23rd 1951
Albus jolted awake without really knowing what it was that had woken him. The white light of morning sparkled off the fresh dusting of snow outside and glared against his spectacles.
The dormitory was bitterly cold.
He shifted his weight gingerly in his chair and groaned. He was not quite sure when his back had started aching or the last time he had felt sensation in his backside but his careful readjustment of his limbs had brought the limp, sleeping figure of his favourite student back into view and he sighed again as the weight of his discomfort only grew under the added burden of his guilt.
His head felt as if it might just roll off of his shoulders but he couldn't bring himself to move. If he moved, if he left, just for one hour to sleep in the comfort of his own bed, to eat, to sit in any other chair the castle had to offer, something awful would happen in his absence to punish his serious lack of judgment. He knew it would… It always did.
She had been trying too hard. She had over-complicated herself.
He should have stopped her.
"Why didn't I stop her?" he groaned into his hands, pushing his fingers into the corners of his eyes.
He shifted his weight in his chair and heard the wood groan.
But there it was again…
"Minerva?" he whispered hoarsely and dragged his chair a little closer to the side of her bed.
It came again. He saw her lips move. He was sure of it.
"Minerva?"
"…Al…bus?" it was desperately faint.
His chest tightened, "Min-"
But from somewhere behind him the door of the matron's office slammed and the familiar clip-clopping, jingling gait of Madam Doufant and her keys made him sit up a little straighter and clear the fatigue from his throat.
"Miss McGonagall?" he repeated, decidedly more professional.
Madam Doufant swept past Dumbledore roughly without so much as glancing at him and bent over Minerva, tying up her apron as she went. She shot a filthy look at Dumbledore before laying the back of her hand across her patient's forehead. Minerva moaned weakly in protest. Her eyes fluttered open and narrowed immediately in the matron's direction. Amid the immense relief that had washed over him, he was impressed (and a little amused) that within moments of regaining consciousness she managed to summon up at least some familiar disdain at being fussed over.
"Miss McGonagall?" he tried again.
"Professor?" she asked, her voice was hoarse from disuse but Albus could discern that faint waspish note he had grown so fon- no, he stopped himself from thinking it… accustomed to.
She tried to sit up but Madam Doufant's cold hands held her firmly in her pillows.
"No." she warned, "You stay down."
Minerva conceded grudgingly and let her pour out a measure of potion that seemed to be smoking as it hit the goblet. She tried to spy a glimpse at her company from beneath Madam Doufant's arm but she could only just catch the hem of Dumbledore's robes. Before she could so much as shift in her pillows Madam Doufant thrust the silver goblet into her hands.
"Drink."
She looked into her cup and wrinkled her nose.
"Drink." Madam Doufant repeated impatiently.
"I'm not even awake ye-"
"Drink."
The school healer was a fierce woman with a deceptively kind, heart-shaped face and not renowned for her bedside manner. She had stunning wine red hair and a selectively proficient grasp of English that seemed to depend entirely on the difficulty of her patient.
Minerva eyed the greyish two-toned potion swirling in her cup and, trying not to taste it, gulped it down as fast as she could. She squeezed her eyes shut against the burning in her throat, covered her mouth and coughed quietly. She tried to hand the goblet back to the matron but Madam Doufant had swept around her bed to stand behind the weary figure of Professor Dumbledore.
How long had he been sitting there? How long had she been asleep?
Madam Doufant was glaring at the back of Professor Dumbledore's head with such intensity that Minerva was sure she would find a scorch mark there. Her arms were folded tight across her chest and her face was full of French indignation.
"Three days, Dumbledore! Three!" she growled, her accent thick.
"I'm well aware how long it has been Alexandrine."
He sat like a man who had not been comfortable in a long time, though it was small wonder, the hospital wing was not famous for its chairs. His voice was hoarse and strained and Minerva saw the terrible, dark shadows that had settled under his eyes. Had he stayed the entire time?
Madam Doufant huffed angrily.
She looked as if she were about to cuff him behind the ear and Dumbledore, quivering like a schoolboy about to be caned, bore a pained, resigned expression that suggested he deserved every blow he was about to receive.
"Not aware enough!" she snapped, leant past him and she snatched the goblet from the bedside table before stalking back to her office, slamming the door behind her.
Dumbledore did not move for a few moments.
Minerva, making sure that the matron was indeed gone, sat up a little against her pillows.
"Was that my fault?"
Dumbledore seemed to take a moment to gather himself before answering.
"No, Minerva. It was mine."
"What happened? Did she say three days? Did I change? What was I?" the questions tumbled out of her mouth so quickly she found herself lying down again trying to breathe through the black again.
Old and aching joints forgotten, Dumbledore was on his feet in an instant.
Minerva could hear his voice in the distance but it was not slipping away. Not this time. It was a tether. Slow and calm. A lifeline.
"-and easy. In… and out… Just breathe, Minerva… please breathe."
His eyes are so blue. She thought as the world swam back into place. Dumbledore was standing over her again, one hand smoothing her hair, the other gripping her own as if he were afraid to let it go.
"I am… breathing…" she managed as it came easier, "perhaps just… one question… at a time." and her lips twitched into a smile.
He was very close. Something not lost on Dumbledore. He almost jerked his hands away and retreated to the safety of his chair again.
She closed her eyes. Her cheeks felt very warm. After several long breaths she opened them again.
"Surely you can conjure something more comfortable for yourself." She did not try to sit up this time but nodded in his general direction.
Dumbledore settled himself in more firmly, "Call it penance."
"What did happen, Albus?"
Dumbledore studied his hands for several seconds before answering.
"Did you mean to try to disapparate?"
She tried to remember but it was all just a fog of pain, of muscles ripping and gasping for breath that would not come.
"No." she concluded, "Why?"
"Because," he sat forward, "not only did your spell work fail to protect you from, or enable you to successfully complete, a transformation… but I believe that you, inadvertently, tried to disapparate. And I say inadvertently because I believe you managed to splinch yourself which would have been terrible enough but you also attempted to disapparate within Hogwarts…"
Minerva breathed deep, grateful to be able to do so again.
"That was unfortunate."
Dumbledore's eyes bulged.
"Unfortunate! You could have died! You should have died!"
"But I didn't." and she smiled triumphantly.
"No… you have merely been unconscious for three days teetering upon the brink of being sent to St. Mungo's, frightened your friends, terrified your family and, scared me half to death! Minerva…"
A long silence passed between them. A weight that had nothing to do with her injuries lay heavy on her chest.
Dumbledore looked as if he might cry.
No, she amended herself, he was just very tired.
"I should inform the Headmaster that you are awake, is there anything I can get you? I know Miss Jones has been anxious for you to wake up." He stood up somewhat stiffly.
"Ivy is here?" she could not keep the surprise from her voice.
"She is." Dumbledore confirmed gently.
"Can I see her?"
"Of course you may." He turned to leave but hesitated, "If it is agreeable, I would like to check in on you from time to time, with your permission of course."
Minerva smiled.
It was a warm smile that brought colour to her face and softened the depths of those hard, green eyes. For a second, just one, he forgot where he was and who he was, who she was, and stared as she stared back… before she blinked and broke the spell.
"I'd like that."
Dumbledore nodded absently and made his way to the door. His hand was on the handle when-
"Albus?" She called across the space, "What was I?"
He looked back over his shoulder, "It is hard to say… Something small, perhaps a mountain hare… or a wildcat but I can't be sure."
There was that smile again.
"You'll have to pay closer attention next time."
...
"Why would you not tell me? Me! You're best friend! Does Augusta know? An animagus? Merlin's beard, Minerva! What were you thinking?" Ivy had been ranting for at least ten minutes now and Minerva had zoned out of the rather one-sided conversation after about two and turned her focus to the parchment Ivy had been so gracious to bring her.
"-I mean honestly… are you even listening?"
"No."
"Who are you writing to?" she stopped her pacing.
"Mother. Well… everyone but… mainly mother. Can you take this to the Owlery when I've finished, I really need an answer by tomorrow."
Ivy sat down at Minerva's feet and tried to peek over her knees.
"What are you writing?"
"Why are you staying at Hogwarts for Christmas?"
The silence that followed was enough to make her lift her gaze from her writing. Ivy tossed her long hair over her shoulder indignantly but did not answer.
"You told me you were going home."
"I changed my mind."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
There was only the scratching of Minerva's quill.
"…was Professor Dumbledore here the whole time? Every time I came to see you he was here, he looked wretched."
"I wouldn't know. I was unconscious." She scrawled her name and her love at the bottom of the parchment and rolled up her letter, "Oh Ivy please don't look at me like that."
Ivy had planted a coy, suspicious smile on her face and was looking at her expectantly.
"If I want foolishness I go to Augusta. You are supposed to be the sensible one…oh no…" and realisation dawned, "Sterling is staying for Christmas… you are staying over the holidays because Sterling is. Ivy Jones!"
Ivy sniffed huffily and smoothed a non-existent crease in her jumper.
"We happen to be staying for the same reason."
"Each other." Minerva grumbled quietly. "If you like him so much why don't you just ask him to go on a date with you and stop prancing around each other in the corridors?"
Ivy looked scandalised.
"That's not how it works! I'm the girl! He's a hot shot quidditch player-,"
"You're a hot shot quidditch player." But Ivy was ranting again.
"-I'm supposed to ask for help with my homework-"
"You'll fail." She reached for a copy of Transfiguration Today.
"-he constantly has a pack of beautiful girls following him, Minerva. He's always talking to you…"
Minerva examined her friend over her magazine; Ivy looked genuinely distraught, her whole body was tense, blue eyes wide; begging for reassurance. Minerva sighed.
"You are the most beautiful girl in our year, Ivy." She said softly, and Ivy relaxed immediately. Minerva never lied, especially for such a placating purpose.
"Sterling talks to me all the time because I'm on his quidditch team. And he's best friends with Walter who happens to be constantly glued to my other best friend. So yes, we talk. We're friends. So please don't ever bring it up again. It's too silly for words. And so what if you're the girl? Augusta asked Walter out."
"Yes but Augusta is… bossy."
"She is proactive." Minerva amended. Ivy raised her pale eyebrows.
"… and bossy." She conceded with a smirk and both girls laughed.
But the laughter was lost when Minerva clutched her side and Ivy sobered immediately.
"Minerva are you alright? Shall I fetch the nurse?"
Eyes watering, she shook her head.
"I'm fine." She gasped but Ivy was on her feet looking as if she were about to bolt, "Honestly. I'm fine." She tried again, fighting to level her voice and with what seemed like tremendous effort she pulled her hand away and waved it at the blonde girl.
"See? Fine."
"Animagus." She hissed, scathingly, "You are the stupidest person I know Minerva McGonagall."