Albus watched the steady rise and fall of Minerva's chest as she slept. He knew she needed rest, and he was glad for her to get a respite from her awful grief, but he was afraid he would never hear her voice or look into her open eyes again. So he kept vigil, as if the act of watching her breathe could ensure that it would keep occurring.
In the middle of the night, Healer Pye returned to check on his patient.
"I need to examine her and run a few tests. It will take just a few minutes," he said.
Dumbledore said nothing.
Pye went to the foot of the bed and lifted the blanket. Albus couldn't see what the Healer was doing, nor did he want to. Minerva didn't wake, but she stirred a little as Pye used his wand to change the now blood-soaked pad underneath her for a clean one. Frowning, he examined the soiled linen. He Banished it, replaced the sheets, and moved to the side of her bed, passing his wand slowly back and forth over the sleeping woman's torso.
After examining the numbers his wand drew in the air, Pye left the room swiftly without stopping to make notes or speak to Dumbledore. He ran down the corridor until he found the colleague he wanted in another ward. Cressida Burgess was St Mungo's most knowledgeable Healer in the field of magical haematology, and he needed her expertise if he wanted to save his patient.
"Cressida, I have a post-partum patient—she had a full abruption at twenty-seven weeks, heavy blood loss. She's still bleeding, and it looks like she's developed consumptive coagulopathy." He waved his wand to show his colleague the results of the latest tests he had made.
Healer Burgess's eyes darted over the ethereal numbers.
"What have you given her so far?"
"Ninety millilitres of Replenishing Potion Number Seven. I didn't dare give any more, but I may have to if she keeps bleeding. What do you think?"
"Before you do that, you should consider removing the uterus," Burgess said.
Pye's eyes widened. Removing an organ was almost unheard of in wizarding medicine; it was considered a barbaric practice best left to Muggle butchers with their sharp knives.
Cressida took him by the arm and shook him out of his shock. "Look, Galeneus, your options are limited. She's either going to bleed out or she's going to throw clots and her organs are going to shut down. If you remove the uterus, you remove the source of the bleed and eliminate a source of procoagulants. If you're lucky, she survives the procedure, her clotting factors start to recover, and you get her into haemostasis."
Pye let out a breath. "Will you help me? I've never removed an organ, only saw it done once in my internship days."
"Of course. If you can get the patient prepped, I'll meet you in, say ten minutes?"
Pye nodded.
"What room?"
"Four-twenty."
Poppy was dozing fitfully in the camp bed she had moved close to the infirmary fireplace when a voice cut through the fog of sleep.
"Madam Pomfrey?"
She jerked awake and saw Healer Pye's head talking to her from the fire.
"I'm sorry I startled you. You should come."
"Why, what's happening?" asked Poppy, immediately alert.
"Mrs Dumbledore has become critically ill. We're preparing for an emergency procedure, and Professor Dumbledore asked me to call you. He's agreed to allow us to remove her uterus."
"I'll be right there."
The head disappeared, and after throwing on her outer robes, Poppy Flooed back to St Mungo's, afraid of what she would find when she got there. A knot of anxiety pressed at the base of her skull as she headed into Minerva's room.
There was a hum of quiet, intense activity inside. A mediwitch was measuring out phials of potions, and a Healer Poppy didn't recognise moved a wand in slow circles over Minerva's chest, murmuring things to a Quick-Quotes Quill that was taking notes on a piece of parchment hovering next to him. Healer Pye was in the corner, talking to an older Healer Poppy recognised as Cressida Burgess, who had been on the St Mungo's staff back when Poppy had worked there.
Albus stood at his post beside Minerva's bed. When he saw Poppy, he beckoned her over.
"What have I agreed to?" he asked.
"Only what you had to do to save Minerva's life." Poppy hoped her voice wasn't shaking as much as she feared it was.
"They said she might die if I didn't consent," he said, his voice hitching.
"I know." She put her arms around him and let him cry into her shoulder.
He took a few heaving breaths, then wiped his nose with his sleeve. "She will never forgive me."
"Of course she will. She'll know you agreed because you had no other choice."
"This is all my fault."
His despair alarmed her.
"No, it isn't, you didn't cause this," Poppy said.
"If she hadn't become pregnant, if I hadn't agreed to keep the baby …"
"Albus, she wanted it. You know that."
"I should never have allowed it. Not after I found out what happened to her mother."
"Nonsense. What happened to Minerva's mother had nothing to do with this. We had no reason to believe it would happen to Minerva, and it didn't. Unfortunately, she experienced a different complication, and nobody is at fault for any of it … unless you want to place the blame on Brigid, or Hera, or Eileithyia."
But Albus wasn't listening. Instead, he was replaying in his head the conversation he had had with Thorfinn McGonagall. One phrase echoed in his memory: "watching your wife's life drain away with her blood and nothing you can do."
Thorfinn. What would he tell Thorfinn if Minerva died?
He pulled away from Poppy and returned to Minerva's bedside. As if he could pass his life force to her through the medium of skin, he took her limp hand and knelt, pressing her cold palm to his warm, wet cheek, whispering, "Please, Minerva … please, my love … don't leave me."
The clearing of a throat behind him, made him turn around.
Healer Pye said, "Sir, we're ready to begin. If you could step out?"
"I'm not leaving. Do what you have to do, but I stay here."
Pye looked as if he were going to argue, but then he nodded. "All right. But I must ask you to move aside so we have room to work."
Albus joined Poppy near the back of the room.
"Do you want me to go?" she asked.
He grabbed her hand and gripped it.
The older Healer approached them, and when she saw Albus's drawn face, she gasped.
"Albus!"
It took him a moment to recognise the woman who was staring at him.
"Cressida?"
"Yes."
"I didn't know you were at St Mungo's," he said.
"Almost twenty-two years now." She glanced back at where the other Healers were preparing Minerva for the procedure. "Is she … a relation?
"My wife."
A flicker of surprise passed over Cressida's face, but she masked it.
"I'm so sorry about the baby," she said.
"Thank you."
"We're going to do everything we can for …"
"Minerva."
"Minerva. I'm going to begin the procedure now. It shouldn't take terribly long."
"All right. Thank you."
Healer Burgess returned to the group hovering around Minerva. Before Poppy could ask, Albus said, "We knew each other years ago. We both studied alchemy with Nicolas Flamel."
"She must be very smart."
"Yes, she is."
As Healer Burgess had predicted, the operation didn't take long. From where Poppy stood, it appeared that Burgess only waved her wand over Minerva's abdomen for several minutes, murmuring a series of spells in Latin, Greek, and another language Poppy suspected was Arabic. Healer Pye occasionally touched his wand to Minerva's abdomen when Burgess nodded at him. Nevertheless, when he came over to talk to Albus and Poppy, he was perspiring.
"It's done," he told them. "She seems to have tolerated the procedure well."
"Thank Merlin," said Poppy.
"Is she out of danger?" asked Albus.
"We won't know for a bit. The bleeding from her uterus is obviously stopped, but we still need to resolve the coagulopathy."
"When will she wake?" Albus asked.
"I'm not certain. It may be hours, or days, or … well, we'll just have to wait and see." Poppy and Albus both knew what the last "or" signified.
Healer Burgess joined them. "It went as well as we could have hoped," she said. "I removed the top portion of the uterus without touching the cervix or ovaries." When Albus looked at her questioningly, she said, "That helps preserve normal function—except she will no longer menstruate, and, of course, she will be unable to bear more children."
Albus gave a small nod.
Healer Pye said, "For the moment, I'd just like her to sleep. I'll be monitoring her constantly, and we'll run some more tests in an hour."
After the Healers and mediwitches had gone, Poppy said, "You should get some rest, Albus. I can stay with her. I promise I'll alert you the moment anything changes."
"No!" Then he said more gently, "I'm sorry. No, Poppy. I shall stay. I wouldn't rest, in any case. You go. I'll see you in the morning."
"All right. But promise me you'll have them get you something to eat. The last thing Minerva needs is for you to get sick."
"I will."
When Poppy had left, Albus pulled up a chair next to Minerva's bedside once again. He took from his large robe pocket the slim volume of poetry Poppy had brought him, and opened it, hoping the special magic of Tennyson might penetrate Minerva's slumber and provide some thread of light to guide her from the darkness that consumed her. He would drag her back to him with words.
"Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
In a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die."
It was not until he had finished reading the poem that he realised he had recently discovered, all too intimately, the truth of the poet's famous phrase: "Nature, red in tooth and claw".
~oOo~
When the students arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning, they knew right away that something was wrong and that it was serious. It was evident both from the empty Headmaster's chair and its smaller twin to the right, where Professor McGonagall normally sat. The ashen faces of the other teachers were another signal that something was terribly amiss.
Most of the students knew that Professor McGonagall had been taken away unconscious and bleeding, and there had been a great deal of speculation as to the cause. Contrary to Madam Pomfrey's assumption that Nigella Starsgaard would tell someone about Minerva's pregnancy, she had said nothing to anyone. In fact, she had refused to speak to any of her dorm-mates and didn't come down for breakfast.
Some were of the opinion that the professor's sudden illness was related to her getting sick during class a few weeks back, although nobody had suggested of pregnancy as a cause since Ian Robinson had made the joke in the Gryffindor common room. And everyone had recognised it as a joke. Few would have seriously considered the idea that priggish, uptight Professor McGonagall was capable of the action required to result in pregnancy.
Another faction was adamant that the professor's illness was a result of an accident, or even an attack. The lurid descriptions of the blood on the Transfiguration classroom floor suggested some kind of awful curse.
Whatever the cause of McGonagall's absence, the collected students realised they were about to hear some news when Professor Flitwick mounted a tall stool and used his wand to amplify his voice to address the assembly.
"As some of you know, Professor McGonagall became suddenly ill yesterday afternoon. She has been transferred to St Mungo's, and I am sorry to say that her illness appears to be serious." Murmurs rippled through the hall. Professor Flitwick signalled to the students to quiet down.
"Professor Dumbledore is with her, and Madam Pomfrey assures me that Professor McGonagall is receiving the best of care, so we may hope that she will eventually make a full recovery. I do not know when she or the Headmaster will be able to return to their duties. In the interim, Transfiguration classes will be cancelled until further notice. Please be assured that, should it become necessary, we will make arrangements for another teacher to take Professor McGonagall's classes so that none of you falls behind in your studies. During Professor Dumbledore's absence, I will act as Head, and I trust you will all do what you can to help the staff and one another during this difficult time."
When it became clear that there was to be no further information on the cause of Professor McGonagall's illness, the students turned to their tablemates, and much hushed discussion ensued, punctuated by the clink of silverware on plates.
One question that was on everyone's lips was: why did Professor Dumbledore need to stay at St Mungo's? The curse-theory faction all nodded sagely at one another. Obviously, the Headmaster was trying to figure out who had cursed Professor McGonagall so terribly. Ian Robinson posited the idea that it was a Slytherin, out for revenge against McGonagall for taking House points or giving too much homework. The other Gryffindors laughed him down. Bad as McGonagall was, surely nobody would curse her for it.
Poppy had just left the Great Hall and was headed to the infirmary, intending to Floo back to St Mungo's, when a voice called out to her from behind.
"Madam Pomfrey, please wait!"
Poppy turned to see Molly Prewett hurrying down the corridor towards her.
"Please, can you tell me how Professor McGonagall is?" asked Molly. Tears glistened in the girl's eyes.
"As Professor Flitwick said, she's quite ill but getting excellent care."
Molly lowered her voice to a whisper. "What about the baby?"
Poppy's eyes darted around the corridor to make sure they were alone. "What do you mean?"
"I know Professor McGonagall is pregnant. She told me."
Why on earth would Minerva have shared that information with a student? Or was the Prewett girl lying for some reason?
"When did Professor McGonagall tell you this?"
"About two weeks ago."
Poppy's eyes narrowed, and Molly added, "I guessed, Madam Pomfrey. I asked her, and she told me the truth."
That was just like Minerva, Poppy thought. She'd rather bite off her tongue than lie to a student. She said quietly, "Professor McGonagall lost the baby."
"Oh, no!"
Tears spilled down Molly's cheeks, and when her crying became audible, Poppy cast a Muffliato around them. She put an arm around the girl.
"Poor Professor McGonagall … Poor Professor Dumbledore …" Molly sobbed into Poppy's shoulder.
Poppy was startled again when she realised Molly also knew about Albus. Of course Minerva would have told her about their marriage. She would not have allowed a student to believe she was an unwed mother.
When Molly had got control of herself, she asked, "What happened?"
"She experienced a rare complication of pregnancy."
Poppy handed Molly a handkerchief, and Molly dabbed at her wet eyes. "When will she be back?"
"I don't know. She's still quite sick."
"Will she be all right?"
"I hope so."
"Will you please tell her … tell her I'm sorry? And send her my love? And Professor Dumbledore too?"
Now the tears came to Poppy's eyes. "I will. She'll be pleased to know you're thinking of her."
Molly nodded.
"You'd best be getting to class," said Poppy.
Molly's breath hitched, and Poppy said, "Or, if you need some time to collect yourself, I could write a note explaining that you were ill this morning and came to see me."
Molly nodded gratefully.
Poppy conjured a bit of parchment and a quill and wrote a note.
"Thank you," whispered Molly.
As she watched Molly walk away down the corridor, Poppy thought to herself how nice it was to be able to do something concrete for someone. Her last twenty-four hours had been altogether too full of "nothing to be done".