"My visit with Cornelius was very unsettling." Dumbledore began speaking the moment Snape and McGonagall entered his study. The lack of his usual vague preamble convinced them both this was serious, and they sat without a word.
"Cornelius has indeed sent to remaining Aurors on a hunt for the escaped Death Eaters. But he has sent them to the furthest corners of France, Russia, and Asia, claiming none of the escapees would dare to stay in England."
"It does make sense, Professor," Snape mused. "After all, once they had made their escape from the magical environs of Azkaban they could Apparate anywhere they chose. With Voldemort dead there is no reason for them to stay in England, and every reason not to."
"Not when the three escaped Death Eaters are Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore said grimly.
Snape's hands clenched together whitely; McGonagall drew in a slow, deep breath. Both were horrified.
"I am quite certain," Dumbledore continued, "that Lucius will attempt to succeed where Voldemort failed; and he can only do that here in England."
"Indeed." Snape's voice was a velvet snarl. "In his own peculiar way, Lucius has always been – a patriot. He would never leave England."
"Peter Pettigrew will follow anyone who is stronger than himself." McGonagall's voice was ice. "He's proved that true all his life. Right now, Malfoy is the only person interested in keeping him alive."
"And Bellatrix was fanatically devoted to Voldemort," Dumbledore concluded. "She will see Lucius as Voldemort's natural successor, the only one able to continue his work.
"They will be in England, and there is no one hunting them here! Severus, I must ask you to begin this search, and to leave no stone unturned." He paused. "Yet again I must ask you to go into great danger, but these three must be found – at all costs."
Snape's eyes glittered with excitement. "I will begin at once, Headmaster." He bowed slightly and made to leave the room.
"Wait!" McGonagall cried out. "You may want to begin your search, Severus, with the house of Sirius Black."
"Our old headquarters?" He stared at her.
"For a Slytherin, you were always profoundly ignorant of the wizarding genealogies." She ticked off the points. "Firstly, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange were sisters, and their maiden names were Black. Bellatrix in particular has always been very proud of that fact. Secondly, now that the Order has been disbanded the house is unoccupied, and Bellatrix might feel she has the right to claim it. And finally, as Bellatrix and Malfoy would both well know, there is no more secure house in England – and both of them are among the few people that the house would allow to enter it."
"Brilliant." For once there was no irony either Snape's voice or in the bow he made her – the same bow that he usually reserved for Dumbledore.
He looked back at the Headmaster. "I'll send word through the usual channels."
Dumbledore raised a hand gravely in blessing. "Until then, Severus."
Snape vanished through the doorway. Professor McGonagall rose as if to follow him, but at Dumbledore's slight headshake she sat again.
"Minerva, there is worse news." He paused, and then rose from behind his desk. "But I should rather discuss it with you as my friend than tell you about it as your Headmaster." He picked up his wand and waved it.
The chair Minerva McGonagall was seated upon grew around her until it was a large, squashy armchair. A similar comfortable chair popped into existence just opposite. Suddenly there was a small table in between them with tea things neatly arranged upon a silver tray.
Dumbledore frowned slightly. The tongue of the teapot immediately sent up vapours of steam and the small dish became filled with dark biscuits. He smiled faintly in satisfaction and seated himself, reaching for the teapot.
"That reminds me, Albus." She reached out her hand for the cup he offered her. "Why did you change this chair back from the couch this morning?"
"I'm afraid I didn't."
"Well, I certainly didn't!"
"Ah." He took a sip from his cup. "Then I must admit I am at something of a loss to explain it. Perhaps my Transfiguration spell was incorrect."
She snorted. "Now why would I find that difficult to believe about the only wizard to ever receive two hundred and five percent on his NEWT level Transfiguration exam?"
He raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. "How did you ever find out about that?"
"Once Professor Marchbanks told me that you did things with a wand during that exam that even she had never seen before, I looked up the records." Enjoying the rather bashful look on his face she took a sip of her own tea and frowned. "Albus, why is it you always make the tea too sweet?"
"'Sweets for the sweet', isn't that the saying?"
"A foolish one, then. I am not 'sweet'."
"No," he mused. "No, sweet isn't really the right term to describe you, Minerva. Would you settle for remarkable?"
Under normal circumstances she would have immediately shot back a retort, though secretly the compliment would have pleased her. But the knowledge of what the school believed, coupled with the unusual awakening this morning – she couldn't stop an uncomfortable flush creeping up her cheeks.
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Minerva, is there something wrong?"
"No." She shifted slightly in her chair. "No, nothing." But her voice sounded unconvincing to her own ears.
He waited for her to explain. But she could not. She snapped her head up sharply. "You said there was worse news?"
He gave her a long considering look, but she obviously would not discuss the cause of her distress. "Yes. After my talk with Cornelius I was fortunate enough to meet with Miss Skeeter, who is now back with The Daily Prophet."
"That creature?" As an Animagus herself, McGonagall had been outraged over Rita's forgiveness by the Ministry, no matter how useful it had eventually proved. "What did she want?"
"To ask me how I felt about being the next Minister of Magic."
She felt her heart sink. "Oh, Albus."
"Apparently popular opinion on the subject is very much in my favour. The wizarding community feels that since I orchestrated the resistance to Voldemort, I am the best person to lead us all into 'a new age of peace and cooperation.' Miss Skeeter was quite enthusiastic. The Daily Prophet intends to run many articles on the subject and are even planning on organising a popular vote."
"Oh, Albus."
He laid his cup on the table. "Minerva, wasn't once enough?"
"After Grindlewald, when you were asked to be the Minister of Magic, and instead you supported Fudge," she confirmed.
"I have no wish for that position, Minerva. I never have. I am selfish, I will admit it. Here, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, I have all I could ever want; you beside me, able to watch our children grow and learn. It is everything that makes me happiest.
"And why else have we fought all these years against those who would use their powers for darkness, if not for the right to choose, and to be able to strive for happiness?"
He looked at her as if hoping for an answer. She could give him none.
"There is another, hopefully less selfish reason for me to refuse this. I am too powerful a wizard for this position; yet this is precisely why the wizarding community wants me, and that is why it would be so wrong for me to take it. The Minister of Magic must be someone that can be argued with. It is the cornerstone of democracy. We have just fought a war to prevent the despotism of Voldemort; would they truly wish to finish that war by embracing a despot, albeit a benevolent one?"
It was her turn to sigh. "I do not know what to tell you, Albus. The only thing which is clear to me is that support for Cornelius Fudge to continue as Minister of Magic is obviously small. People believe he has become too enamoured of the power of it."
"I fear you are right." Her commonsense words helped him to regain his equanimity. His cup refilled itself and he brought it to his lips. "But I cannot and will not take this position."
"They will try very hard to make you change your mind on this," she warned him. "Because if the Minister of Magic is not you, and if it is not Fudge, then who else can it be?"
"I do not know," said Dumbledore. Suddenly the cup stopped halfway to his lips – and very faintly he began to smile.