The seven staff of Hogwarts showed no surprise that he chose to carry Minerva McGonagall rather than simply float her into the room. Indeed, they seemed to have expected it.
Madam Pince gave a small cry when she saw how white Minerva's face was above the burgundy and gold quilt that swathed her round: but the rest of the room was in utter silence. As he moved with Minerva in his arms to the cauldron, Dumbledore realised he was not alone in his terror.
"Lectum stenere", he whispered, and the nearest chair expanded into the familiar red and gold couch. He began to lay her onto it; but Madam Pomfrey shook her head.
"I need her sitting up," she explained quietly. He nodded, and suddenly fat cushions winked into existence and Minerva was propped against them.
Professor Binns moved to the cauldron, and dipped his ghostly hands into it. When he lifted them from the cauldron's depths the silvery liquid was cupped within, moving sluggishly.
"It feels… so strange," he murmured, and on his face there was a look of dreamy confusion.
"Binns!" Madam Pomfrey gestured fiercely, and the History Professor drifted to her. He held his cupped hands to Minerva's lips, and Poppy Pomfrey gently opened her mouth. Then the liquid, as though it were in truth alive, slipped inside seemingly of its own accord, and Poppy gently stroked Minerva's throat to make sure she swallowed it.
Then a soundless explosion hit them, beating furiously against their eardrums; and the light was so bright they held up their arms to ward it off, tightly scrunching their eyes closed.
When the light faded they crowded around the couch eagerly.
**
The last thing she could remember was Pettigrew. The spell. And, Merlin, such pain! She moved restlessly in remembrance of the pain, but something had cocooned her, wrapping her round so tightly that she couldn't move. And it was far too hot…
Her eyelids fluttered open to the sight of Albus's blue, anxious eyes. At the sight of her frown of puzzlement an utter joy suddenly flooded those familiar eyes, so complete that her frown began to slip away in response. She tried to move her hand, but it only moved an inch away from the silk of her… petticoat? She was wrapped in a mass of burgundy and gold satin, and –
She shrieked, trying to clutch the quilt closer to her. "What in the name of all the gods is going on here?" she snapped, glaring at the eight faces that surrounded her. "And why, in Merlin's name, am I sitting here in my – like this?"
Madam Pomfrey and Irma Pince sank onto the floor of the study, and hugged each other, laughing while tears ran down their faces. The cool, unemotional Professor Vector suddenly burst into noisy sobs, and she sank to the floor as well. Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Binns started laughing hysterically and began to dance around the room.
Severus Snape at least seemed unmoved. "Well, it's certainly Minerva McGonagall." Then she saw that his eyes were also filled with tears. He turned away resolutely, and she saw his hands come over his face.
"Would someone please explain – "
But she was ignored. Poppy reached out an arm and pulled Professor Vector into the embrace. The three dancing professors were now swinging each other madly throughout the room, whooping happily. She turned to Albus, who was still kneeling beside the couch.
"Albus, what is going on?" She was thoroughly exasperated.
"We feared you were dying," he said simply, and her exasperation vanished.
"The spell…" she murmured. He nodded.
"Yes." His eyes suddenly hardened. "Using that spell was unbelievably foolish, Minerva."
Her chin came up proudly. "I believe I am quite capable of determining…"
"You could have been killed!" he roared. The dancing and laughing immediately stopped dead. The three sobbing, erstwhile smiling witches on the floor looked up and the tears dried on their shocked faces as the temperature in the room seemed suddenly to drop.
"I understood the risks perfectly well." Her voice was ice. "And I am not a student to be lectured, Albus Dumbledore. I will thank you to remember that!"
He stood up, towering over her. "I am well aware that you are not a student, Professor McGonagall." His eyes were now furious. "Though if I could I would make you one again, until you learned not to risk your life in such a manner!"
She tried to get to her feet, but the quilt made it impossible. She could not even move her hands to get it off. "I should like my clothes," she demanded. "Please!"
He waved a hand sharply, and suddenly she was clad not in a quilt, but in an ornate burgundy and gold gown. She too waved her hand; and the trailing wisps of dark hair that had been floating around her face began to reshape themselves into her customary bun even as she leaped up from the couch. How dared the man scold her!
But before she could open her mouth to refute him, a more composed Severus was between them.
"Forgive me, Professors," he said urbanely. "But the Headmaster is urgently required at the Ministry of Magic."
"Then," she snapped, not moving her glare from an equally angry Dumbledore, "I see no reason why he is still here!"
"I believe," Snape murmured, his customary smirk returning to his face, "that the reason he gave at the time was 'I will not leave her until she is well'."
"Oh." She felt colour rise to her cheeks.
A certain colour tinged those of Albus, too; and his eyes lost some of their sapphire hardness.
"So," Severus continued, "since you are so manifestly well – "
Severus Snape seemed to be having a great deal of fun… at her expense. Her erstwhile glare returned, but it was not now aimed at Albus. Snape stepped back.
"Definitely well," he muttered. He turned to Dumbledore, gesturing to the open fireplace. "Headmaster?"
Albus Dumbledore nodded, but turned to Minerva. His voice had returned to a more normal pitch. "I should like, Professor McGonagall, to speak to you this evening, if you are free."
She inclined her head. "As you wish, Headmaster." She sat back down on the couch.
"Minerva." She looked up at him again. "It is so good to see you well again."
She let out a soft breath. "It is good to be well, Albus."
A shared smile – and he and Snape disappeared in a green flash of Floo powder.
She looked into the open-mouthed faces of her six colleagues. "What?" she questioned irritably.
They stared at her for a moment, then looked questioningly at each other. "Definitely love," they chorused. Then fell about, laughing hysterically.
Professor Minerva McGonagall crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and waited disapprovingly for sanity to return to the room.
It was a long time coming.
**
Dumbledore moved quietly into the Great Chamber of the Wizengamot, Snape close behind him. Both were stunned into temporary immobility by the huge wave of applause that suddenly reverberated throughout the Chamber.
Snape, watching individual faces in the crowd, saw more than simple happiness on many of them. He saw frowns, carefully hidden; he saw well-concealed panic; on others he saw worried lines in expressions trying desperately to appear carefree. He nodded to himself. Some of the witches and wizards cheering in this room had profited handsomely in the years of Cornelius Fudge's tenure as Minister of Magic. They had good reason to be concerned at the sudden upheaval.
Dumbledore moved again, into the centre of the vast room, and held up his hands for quiet. "Please! It is enough." Slowly the applause began to die down, and people began to take their seats again.
Snape took up a station near the door, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. As a non-member of the Wizengamot he should not be in the chamber at all, but he admitted to himself a strong desire to see how the following scene would play out. He did not regard many of the Wizengamot as particular friends, given that most of them had voted for his permanent incarceration in Azkaban.
Madam Bones, seated near the front of the room, noticed him, and gave him an almost imperceptible smile of gratitude. He nodded once, then ignored her, fixing instead his attention upon Dumbledore.
The greatest wizard in the world was frowning.
But his voice was soft as he began. "You will all be glad to know," he said softly, "that Professor McGonagall has recovered from the after-effects of the spell she cast upon Peter Pettigrew last night. Because of her willingness to sacrifice herself for the greater good, we are now free of Voldemort's Death Eaters forever."
The applause began again, but he cut it off with an outstretched hand.
"But how long will it be before another group of ambitious sorcerers is formed, and what name will they then chose?"
Everyone looked puzzled. Dumbledore let the silence rest for a moment, and then continued.
"Last night, we learned that it was not the title of Death Eater which has caused so much pain amongst us; but instead the propensity for ambition, greed, and cruelty which lurks inside everyone's heart. One of our own, Cornelius Fudge, caused the riot at Azkaban, removed the three most well-known Death Eaters, tortured them in hiding, and killed two of them before being killed himself by the third – while he was attempting my own murder. Cornelius did not do these things from anger at these people, but for the political gain he saw accruing from the carefully twisted public perception of some of these acts. Yet he was never a Death Eater; he was one of our own.
"So I ask you again: how soon will it be before a new group is formed, and what name will they take?"
Silence; then on one of the faces which Snape had noted panic shone sudden comprehension. "You will lead us, Albus Dumbledore!" the wizard cried. "As our Minister of Magic, you will guide us away from harm!"
Suddenly the room was cheering again.
"I WILL NOT!" The shout that filled the room was so loud Snape thought he felt the pillar against which he was leaning shake.
The cheering cut off abruptly. "I will not," Dumbledore reiterated, more quietly this time, but no less filled with resolve.
Snape felt his heart sink. What was he doing? About to be voted Minister of Magic, by general acclamation no less, and given the chance to rebuild the wizarding world – and he was turning it down? What had they done all this fighting for, if not for that?
Dumbledore's eyes met his, even hidden as he was; and in their wise depths was a glimmer of that familiar twinkle which said in a brief second, "I know everything you are thinking, Severus… but you are still wrong."
"It is time," Dumbledore's voice was soft, almost gentle, "for us all to take responsibility for ourselves. I fought and won against Grindlewald, yes, but I did so with the aid of a large group of people, some of whose names will not be noted on any plaque of honour. Harry and I have fought against Voldemort and won, yes; but we did so with the aid of others who have bled and died so that the end could be achieved. It is time the wizarding world stopped seeking heroes who will handle these evils and began to take personal responsibility for their own actions and choices. The only responsibility I will shoulder is that of the children under my care at Hogwarts, who are not yet of an age to choose wisely for themselves which path they will follow.
"To this end, therefore, I resign as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. As it is the prerogative of the Chief Warlock to name their own successor, I hereby nominate Madam Amelia Bones as the Chief Warlock. She will lead you in argument to create consensus; and that is exactly how it should be. Moreover she has a great heart, remarkable strength, and the ability to tell someone when he is being too self-pitying for his own – or others - good."
Madam Bones was looking completely horrified at her sudden ascension.
"She also," the twinkle in his eyes was very pronounced, "has a wide variety of hexes which serve to silence people most effectively. Another valuable asset in a Chief Warlock, I do believe."
With that, Dumbledore left the podium, and moved swiftly to a stunned Snape. "I feel our business here is complete, Severus. Shall we go?"
"You – you just –"
"Come, come, Severus. There is another appointment awaiting us, and we should not keep him waiting." He moved out the door just as the whispering began in the chamber, and Snape blindly followed.
"What appointment?"
"With Mr. Lovegood, the editor of – ah, yes, 'The Quibbler'. To give a full account of what happened last night."
"That tabloid rag?"
"I find the articles in 'The Quibbler' most entertaining, Severus," Dumbledore said in mild reproof.
"Why do you want to talk to him? Why not the 'Daily Prophet'?"
"Unfortunately, Severus, I believe the 'Daily Prophet' has spent too much time as the only voice of the wizarding community. The difficulties it has caused by distorting the facts over the last few years should never have happened." They were moving up a flight of stairs to the general visitors area. "The abuse of their power, and the lack of responsibility they have shown to the truth is something which also needs to cease."
Snape bit back a sudden grin as Dumbledore greeted the rather shabbily dressed wizard who was awaiting them near a small fountain. Despite Albus Dumbledore's refusal to become Minister of Magic and his resignation from the Wizengamot, he was still making decisions that would shake the entire wizarding world. That was Dumbledore's own personal sense of responsibility, as much a part of him as his magical abilities, and Snape felt a certain degree of relief that at least this had not changed at all.
It was well into the afternoon before they had finished telling their story to Lovegood, and Snape was looking forward to the silence of his dungeons and perhaps a few hours of sleep when Dumbledore stopped him just before they were about to enter the large fireplace in the atrium. "Would you mind making yet another stop with me, Severus?"
Snape shoved aside his tiredness with an effort. "Where to?"
"Diagon Alley."
Snape couldn't remember the last time Dumbledore had been to Diagon Alley. He shrugged casually. "Why not?"
Once there, Dumbledore made a beeline for one particular store. Snape's eyes widened.
Later, as they walked out of the shop, he said, "I really don't see why you couldn't have just created one yourself."
"I wanted it to be real. Something which has been made strong in the Earth by a thousand years."
"It would be just as real if you created it. It's not as if she'd ever know the difference."
A smile tweaked under Dumbledore's beard. "Someday you will understand the difference, my friend," he said. "And I shall be delighted when that day comes."
"Headmaster, what have I done to annoy you lately?"
Dumbledore chuckled.
"McGonagall-Dumbledore." Snape shook his head. "The names sound even more ridiculous hyphenated than they do apart."
Dumbledore was still laughing as they hurtled through the Floo Network to Hogwarts and home.
**
Professor McGonagall gave up. Her giggling colleagues were proving impossible to talk to.
One last shot. "Will one of you please –"
Irma Pince jumped up and hugged her.
'Irma!" she protested.
"I'm just so glad you're well," and then the prim librarian began to cry again. "And I'm so glad you and Albus are together."
That set the rest off. Before she could move she was enveloped by the crying, laughing, Professor Vector, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Sprout.
"… so sweet…"
The rough-and-tumble Sprouty was saying something was 'sweet'. Without sarcasm?
"… he adores you so…"
She'd obviously given Vector too much credit for good sense in the past.
"… almost cried at the look in his eyes while you were ill…"
Poppy Pomfrey really was ridiculous. Although she couldn't help but wonder for a second just what was this look she was talking about.
Filius Flitwick and Professor Binns took advantage of her immobile state to plant kisses of congratulations of her cheeks.
"Welcome back, Minerva," Flitwick squeaked. "And congratulations. You and Albus make a wonderful couple, really."
"Yes," said Professor Binns. "I was a little concerned at first, but, truly, I wish you both the very best."
They were talking like she and Albus were – were… It was only yesterday that they had started (she blushed slightly) courting, and now - This was insane!
"Get off me!" she snapped. The classroom voice achieved the objective; wiping their eyes, but still smiling, her colleagues stepped back. She rose from the couch. "Albus and – that is, Professor Dumbledore and I," she corrected herself quickly, "are good friends and colleagues. Anything else between us is… is very recent, and is not up for a public discussion!"
They grinned like loons.
"Thank you for your help in restoring me, I do appreciate it," she said before her temper could really take hold. "But if you will excuse me, I should like to find some proper clothes, and see how my students are doing."
They nodded, still smiling.
"The prefects are currently watching over the students from their houses," Flitwick said, "but they could probably do with a break by now."
"And I should get back and tidy up the library," Irma Pince smiled at her restored friend, and despite herself Minerva found she was smiling back. Even when they were acting like – what was the phrase the students used? Oh, yes, "a pack of nutters", she was really quite fond of her colleagues. And she suspected that today she had a lot to thank them for.
Finally, still murmuring words of encouragement and happiness, they had left and the study was quiet. "Accio clothes," she said, but instead of flying up from the infirmary, or the Ravenclaw tower where her temporary room was, her clothing from the previous night hurtled towards her from Albus's bedroom. Her eyebrows raised high she picked up the clothing and went into the room.
She blinked at the sight of the denuded bed. So this was where the Transfigured dress had come from! She had been put here while she had been ill. But why? There was no earthly reason… Unless… Unless he –
"… he adores you so…"
- he had wanted her close.
Her heart beat a little faster. She shook her head, and began trying to get the dress off. The least she could do was to give him back his quilt.
"Damned buttons," she swore. Tiny, fiddly things all down the back of the bodice. Trust Albus to create a dress so filled with useless furbelows.
"Oh, Minerva, why are you taking it off?" She swung round in surprise. 'It looks so lovely on you."
"Considering it's really Albus's quilt I don't think I should be wearing it round the school, Poppy," McGonagall retorted.
"I doubt that he'd care, given how you look in it." Poppy Pomfrey grabbed Minerva McGonagall by the elbow and pulled her in front of the mirror. "It looks so much better than your normal teaching clothes, it's just ridiculous. The colour looks gorgeous on you, and it flatters your figure so well –"
"It doesn't flatter my figure at all," McGonagall said with some asperity. "It just shows more of it!"
"Then you should show it more often," Poppy said promptly. "Honestly, if I were your age, and still had a figure like that –"
She was rather surprised Poppy couldn't hear her teeth grinding. "What did you come here for, Madam Pomfrey? I can't believe it was to discuss my dress sense!"
Poppy grinned, but at least she did let go of her elbow. "I came back for some of my instruments," she said, pointing to a silver object on the nightstand. Then she paled.
The metronome on the talisman was still ticking. She watched it in horror.
"Poppy?" Minerva was alarmed at the look on the woman's face. "Poppy, what is it?"
When Poppy turned to look at her, the nurse had tears trickling down her face.
'Oh, Minerva. I am so sorry."