"Now go play with your cousin, sweetheart," said Minerva, putting her wand back into her pocket.

"Okay, mum," he responded, his speech remarkably clear for a child not quite a year and a half old, and toddled off to where her brother's youngest son, Vulcan, was playing under a large tree.

"It's good you protect his skin," Minerva's mother commented, watching as her youngest grandchild went to join his dark haired cousin. "Children with hair that color tend to sunburn easily."

"You would know," Minerva replied idly, eyes focused on the two boys. She kept a close eye on Alan. Always. He was an intensely curious personality, and this often drew him into mischief. It seemed that every time she looked away from him for even an instant he managed to get himself into trouble of one sort or another.

"To a point," June replied, not quite agreeing nor quite disagreeing. Minerva knew that she was subtly indicating that she had noticed how Alan's hair color was not quite her own, despite what Minerva liked to lead people to believe. Minerva resolutely ignored the subtle message her mother's words carried, not responding at all. She'd known her mother would notice, sooner or later, that the hair which she daily pulled back into elegant twists was not the same color as her grandson's. The colors were very similar, there was no doubt of that, but June's hair was redder and lighter. Alan's hair . . .

Alan had Albus' hair color. His head was covered in auburn locks which matched his father's absolutely perfectly. Minerva could pretend he had inherited her mother's hair color, but both she and the woman in question knew that wasn't so.

When conversation struck up again, it was not what Minerva had expected. It was idle small talk, simply she and her mother discussing this and that as the fall afternoon faded. It was not June prodding at Minerva, trying to get her to divulge the name of her grandson's father as she had done in months passed. It was simple chatter, which strengthened and faded at odd intervals, never quite dying but at times bearing stretches of silence. It was the most pleasant conversation Minerva could remember having with her mother in a very long while.

The conversation lulled for the third or fourth time that afternoon and silence took hold. Minerva watched Alan, Vulcan and some of her other nieces and nephews as they ran about, just outside of the woods where she'd seen father die so many years before. June watched her, thinking.

They had been silent for over a quarter of an hour when June spoke, voicing a thought that had been floating in her mind for a small while. "Albus Dumbledore is his father, isn't he?"

June watched carefully as her raven-haired daughter's expression briefly became one of surprise, then changed to one of almost tired acceptance. She wasn't going to deny it, June realized. Despite how hard she'd fought against letting her mother figure out the truth, now that June had it she was not going to try to lead her astray of it.

Instead, without ever taking her eyes from the small forms of the playing children, she asked her mother a very simply question. "How did you know?"

"I took a guess," the older woman answered. "As time wore on, Professor Dumbledore simply seemed to be the most likely candidate. You've been lucky with your secret, Minerva. Alan looks like you, other than his hair color. I'd hoped I might gain more clues than that based on his looks but his resemblance to you is amazing."

"So you simply took a guess based on his hair color?" asked Minerva, trying to decide if she was relieved or panicked by the fact that something so simple could have lead to her mother's revelation. On the one hand, connections based on something so small were easily denied—on the other, if that was all it took then how many other people had correctly guessed the identity of Alan's father?

"Not really," June answered. "I don't base my guesses on such poor evidence. His resemblance to you simply meant I had to look elsewhere for clues."

Her mother dropped silent, and Minerva looked over at the older woman. As near as Minerva could guess, she appeared to be reminiscing, and so Minerva waited for her to continue.

"He's very different from you as a child, Minerva," she said, after a moment or two of silence. "You were very shy and quiet . . . and serious, very serious. Alan is outgoing, loquacious, engaging and utterly charming. I could always see the wheels in you head turning but you never shared what you were thinking. Not to me and not to most people. Alan tells you what he's thinking. Every thought that goes through your very bright child's young mind, he makes you aware of. I figured those traits were something he got from his father. So when I started thinking through those with whom you were or are closely acquainted so I could figure out who his father was, I looked for those traits. I came up with more than one person, but Dumbledore was the one that really struck a chord with me."

"Why Albus?" Minerva asked quietly, her face somewhat pale. "Why Albus instead of the others?"

"The hair was a hint," June admitted, "but that wasn't it. The thing that really made me wonder was my memories of a very, very lovesick teenager."

Some color quickly returned to Minerva shocked face as she blushed in embarrassment. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. I'm your mother, aren't I? I could see it on your face when you came home from school and I remember well who it was you ran to when your father was killed. You were head over heels for him. Other people may not have noticed, but I've known you your entire life. I noticed and now, knowing how close you two are, it didn't seem to be too large of a leap that you would begin to feel that way for him again."

"You forgot Albus," Minerva argued, not quite sure why she did. She'd already admitted to her mother that Albus had father Alan. There was nothing to be gained by arguing but she did it anyway. "He would have to feel the same way for this to work right. You thought of how I might feel, but what reason did you have to think that this affection went both ways?"

"Minerva, you are a beautiful young witch. I don't think there is a man, Muggle or wizard, alive who would not be pleased by your attention—and Dumbledore has always been fond of you. It's not a stretch to think that he would return you feelings."

"I see," said Minerva, turning back to the playing children.

"Besides," her mother added, not quite finished, "I also remember how you changed the subject when the Headmaster came up when I visited you at the hospital. That was when the thought of Dumbledore fathering your child first occurred at all. I dismissed it then, but I remembered the incident as I tried to puzzle out the identity of your secret lover."

"He's not my secret lover, mother."

Confusion flickered across June's face. "Of course he is. You just told me he's Alan's father."

"We aren't lovers. It happened once and will never happen again."

June did not like the way that sounded at all, nor did she care for the look on her daughter's face as she said it. "Explain."

"Being intimated connected to a man like Albus is dangerous," Minerva offered, her expression one of clear hurt. It was probably one of the most readable expression June had seen her wear in simply years. She could clearly see that Minerva very much wanted to be with Dumbledore. The idea that she was letting anything, especially something so silly, stop her from doing that was astounding.

"How could it be dangerous?" June asked, incredulous. "He the most powerful wizard of our age! He's legendary! Certainly a man like that could easily protect his family."

"He can't be with us everywhere, ready to protect us should someone decide they wanted to hurt us. He has other obligations. Many of them. I've never see so much as a week go by where the Ministry hasn't wanted him for something."

"There are other ways to protect people, you know," June argued. "Enchantments and such. Even I know something about it, and I know there are others who know far more. I imagine Dumbledore is very well versed in the subject. Surely he could do something."

"He has," Minerva told her. "He and I have so many protective enchantments cast on Alan I'm not certain I remember them all and I'm even fairly certain that Albus has cast a few on me despite my objections."

"So what's the problem then?"

"Enchantments can't protect you from everything," Minerva answered, carefully watching Alan as he played, "and there's always a way to get through them, even if there are a lot of them."

It was at that moment that it struck June exactly how scared Minerva was. She'd never heard Minerva speak like this before and she'd not seen that much fear in her eyes since the war with Grindelwald had neared Britain. She could not imagine what could possibly be so frightening to a daughter whom she'd thought had grown up to be nearly fearless. Whatever it was, it had to be awful, June was sure. Why else would Minerva be trying so hard to keep her secret, and denying herself a man whom she adored since childhood?

Briefly, June thought about asking, a morbid curiosity burning at her to find out who or what could be so awful. She did not, though. If it terrified Minerva so, maybe she did not want to know. She's always been a worrier. She already knew, that having found out why it was that Minerva was so bent on secrecy she would sleep less easily at night. Knowing the specifics might rob her of sleep completely.

"But if no one knows who Alan is, then no one will care to harm him. We won't have to worry about someone getting through our enchantments because no one will want to."

"I'm so sorry, Minerva."

"It's just the way things are. I . . . If it were just me, I wouldn't care. I don't like to live in fear of what could happen to me, but I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to Alan. I can't even stand to think about it."

The dread in Minerva's eyes, the fear that she would not be able to keep her secret and keep her son safe, seemed magnified by the tears in her eyes. She was on the brink of a full storm of tears and trying very hard to hold them back. Minerva had never been good at holding back her tears, though. She was like a statue most of the time, never letting her feelings show, but whenever those feelings got too strong June knew that she had a very hard time holding herself back. It might not always be obvious, but she felt things very strongly—something she'd gotten from her mother.

"We should go inside," June suggested. "Then you can cry all you need to."

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"We need to watch them . . ."

"Mulciber is well old enough to keep an eye on the younger ones while we're inside. It's what I used to do with you, Maia and Jove when you were children."

Minerva looked ready to object.

"You're upset," June persuaded. "You've not been able to talk to anyone but Dumbledore about this for the last year and a half and I can see very clearly that it's been taking its toll on you. Come inside and we'll talk. It will help, I'm sure."

Minerva finally gave in, nodding as tears leaked from her eyes. She turned quickly from the children, keeping her back to them as she conjured a handkerchief and used it to dab quickly at her eyes.

As she did, June moved toward the children, and called her eldest grandchild, one of her sons four boys, over. Alan followed him, toddling along as quickly as he could manage behind his much older and longer-legged cousin.

"Mulciber, I need you to keep an eye on your brothers and cousin, all right?"

The dark-haired boy nodded in lazy agreement. He'd been asked to do this many times before. It was practically a given to him that he would be expected to mind the younger boys. He didn't mind, really. Being responsible and in charge was part of the boy's nature.

"Thank you," said June, letting him go back to what he was doing as Alan reached where they'd been talking.

"What is it, Alan?"

"What's wrong with my mother?"

He was a very observant and perceptive little boy. June knew that, but it still astounded her sometimes. Most year and a half year olds would not have noticed Minerva's quiet little break down.

"She's just not feeling well," June answered, hoping he would be satisfied. For a moment she was not certain he would be, as he thought over how plausible the answer seemed to him. He was, however, still simply a child and after a moment or two of thought he worriedly accepted her explanation.

"Is she gonna be okay?"

"She'll be fine. Now go play with your cousin."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"Okay, but I wanna know if she gets sicker," the auburn-haired boy responded. Assuring him she would, June shooed the boy off to join his cousins and then followed Minerva back to the house.

When she arrived, she found Minerva sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes dabbed dry of all of her tears and the handkerchief clutched firmly in her hand as she stared at the wall across from her.

"If you figured it out then how many other people will?" she asked as June closed the door behind her. "I can't help but be scared that if one person figured it out then everyone else will too."

"I think I'm a bit different aren't I? I know a lot more about this than most people do and I spent a lot of time figuring it out. I'm sure that other people won't find out."

"But it's possible. I know it's possible. You just did it. What if someone else does it too?"

"I will do everything I can to help you keep that from happening. I don't want to see anything happen to either of you. You know how I worry."

"I do," Minerva agreed. "It's the same way I worry about him."

Which was why she was so scared of someone else figuring out her secret the way June had, she knew. She might have done more harm than good by figuring it out. She'd given Minerva someone to help and talk to, but she'd also added a great deal of worry to a situation she knew that Minerva already spent a great deal of time worrying about.

There was nothing that could be done about it, however. There was no way for June to simply fix the problem as she wished to. All she could do was try and help.

So help she did.