Disclaimer: "Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"
This is just my dream, It's Miss Rowling's reality, and Edgar Allan Poe's genius poetry.
After her miraculous recovery, the healers at St. Mungo's saw no reason to keep Minerva longer than a few more days. And Minerva enthusiastically agreed. However, her recovery from the fever did not mean that her body was completely healed. Her stomach still had trouble handling most solid foods and the gash on her shoulder still ached. According to Morton Bancroft, they were exceptionally lucky that Minerva was alive at all, let alone able to walk about a week after the attack, as she was obstinately attempting to do. At first, Minerva had become so dizzy that she was forced to retire to the bed for an entire day, but the next day, she was able to make full circuit around the ward before a concerned Madam Pomfrey forced her to sit down. It was now a full week since the attack, and Minerva was walking around the ward after only one dizzy spell. It was New Year's Eve Day, and Minerva was determined to be out to celebrate that evening. The Weasleys had dropped in to see her the day before, and had once again graciously extended their invitation to the Dumbledores to spend what remained of the holidays at the Burrow. Much to Healer Bancroft's dismay, Minerva had accepted without gaining his approval and was stubbornly persisting in her attempts to be released.
"Professor McGonagall! When you came in here a week ago, for all intents and purposes, you were dead!! Now, after an albeit miraculous recovery, you expect me to let you simply waltz your way out of here after only beginning to recover four days ago? Are you mad?" He ran his hands through his hair as if trying to sweep his mind of its frustration. Helpless against the professor's marble gaze, he turned to plead with the Headmaster, "Dumbledore, surely you see my point!! She nearly died on Monday, and now you expect me to release her? Just like that?"
Dumbledore didn't say anything, primarily because when one has inhabited a particular human body for as long the Headmaster had occupied this particular body, one learns precisely how to manipulate one's stance to convey an idea, and speech becomes redundant. At that very moment, Dumbledore's complete being spoke I've been married to her for twelve years, and I still can't get her to rest unless she's unconscious.
"Well, I see this will get me absolutely no where!" Bancroft turned and threw up his hands as the frustration raced back into his features. "All right, I suppose you are free to go, Professor. Provided," He whirled around to glare with intense sincerity at his contemporary, "You promise to faithfully attend your checkups for the next month. After that I will be satisfied to return you to the exceptional care of Poppy Pomfrey. But in the interim, we have never recorded the after effects of the Dolohov curse, and must collect as much information as we can for future cases."
Up until his last sentence, Minerva had been cheerily bustling around her little bed, gathering her personal belongings, tying on her cloak and hat and finally stopping at Albus' side. On hearing the healer's last words, Minerva's smile disappeared and her hand flew to her womb, which was nearly robbed of its treasure by the sadistic death eater. To prevent a cry from escaping her mouth, Minerva clamped down almost viciously on her bottom lip. Sensing her distress, and indeed feeling a sobering anguish himself, Albus stepped forward. As he did so, he ensconced Minerva's free hand into his own, hoping to provide restrained comfort to his wife.
"Let us hope there are no future cases, Morton."
The Burrow was a completely different place now. The kitchen seemed still homey, but somehow less cheerfully cluttered and more depressed and miserable. These feelings were reflected in the face of the kitchen's proprietor, for Molly Weasley was heavily grieving the loss of her brothers. The majority of the Prewett household had been obliterated during the fierce tyranny of Grindelwald. To lose her brothers to another, seemingly more terrible dark wizard was almost more than Molly could stand. In this, Minerva attempted to comfort her. The Prewetts were not the only family devastated by Grindelwald. The once expansive McGonagall clan had been reduced to a handful of Minerva's distant relations during that terrible scourge. Both women drew strength from each other in their bereft state.
Arthur, contrastingly, was now convinced of the necessity of joining the fledgling Order of the Phoenix. He was convinced that action was the only course open to him. His wife was even more adamant in her opposition to his valorous intents. They had fought incessantly for the past three days, and after a near emotional break down on Molly's part, Arthur had surrendered his stance. After all, they had plans to raise a large family. That would hardly be possible if they were always occupied with Order business. So instead of offering to join the Order, Arthur merely discussed with Albus the best means of setting up protection wards around his new domain. It frustrated him to be forced into such a defensive state, and he longed to be part of the solution. But for now, his life was occupied with domestic problems.
Together, the couples apprehensively celebrated the dawn of another year, each secretly, acutely fearing that they would not all be present at its close. Still, in ancient, time-honored precedent, both couples (to Arthur Weasley's discomfort) lidded their fear long enough enjoy a good snogging session as the year drew its first, ragged breaths.
That night, while the household slept, Minerva's sleep was tortured with twisted, unnerving nightmares.
At first, Minerva's dream was seemingly pleasant. She was lounging on the front lawn of the no longer decrepit McGonagall Manor. Albus was laughing and playing with their children, and there were so many of them!! At least five, by Minerva's count. She smiled at a particularly confusing game Albus was trying to invent. A chorus of young laughter, like a burst of sparrows' song, leapt from the pile of children, all futilely attempting to steal their father's socks. It was sunny and warm and safe, Minerva felt this instinctively.
The sunshine, laughter, and warmth were curtailed in one breath. Isolated in just that second, Minerva frantically roved over the scene. It had all changed. The mansion stood even more derelict then she had last seen it. The emptiness of the house seemed to scream a terrible, comfort-tearing note. Hunting desperately in hopes of finding her children, Minerva scampered out from the leer of the front of the house, to one of its blank sides. As she rounded the corner with a possessed speed, Minerva nearly tripped on a stone. Minerva sat down hard on the dry, unforgiving dirt and came face to face with another shock.
Somehow, Minerva knew that if the house was falling apart, she would not be able to find the children. But this was the last thing she expected.
Staring her boldly, effacingly in the eyes was a tombstone. The inscription screeched, "Athena Deidre McGonagall, born June 14th, 1973, died July 10th, 1980".
Minerva was rocked with an unquenchable desire to retch, and she quickly scooted along the ground away from the grim memorial. Her eyes were hypnotically locked on the words, "died July 10th, 1980". Her back encountered something hard. She flipped over ready to fight whatever or whoever it was. The sight completely obliterated her defenses. Five horribly real, solid stones audaciously loomed in front of her. All bore the horrible epitaph, "died July 10th 1980". And looking below the words, she noticed something her over wrought heart had avoided before. All the tombstones bore the Dark Mark, like a terrible after thought, added to mar the innocence of these terrible monuments.
Panicking, the childless mother stood. Shakily and with no conviction, she began a feeble attempt at regaining a sense of orientation. Her children were all dead. Minerva could only guess as to Albus' fate. She was alone in the world. She had nowhere to live, no one to love… There was a sinister wind on her cheek, and the edge of her vision marked the apparition of a tall, hooded figure. Not sure of a course of action, Minerva retreated behind the pathetic army of tombstones, detachedly deeming them the best immediate cover in case of attack. Another zephyr struck her ear, this time the messenger of a sickly, inhuman voice.
"Aaaahhhhhh," It floated from the hood in frigid satisfaction, "Minerva McGonagall, finally come to your end? Do you see what has become of all you loved, Minerva? You lead an empty, pathetic life. All for your hypocritical morals. Are you happy, Minerva? Are you glad that each and every one of your children died before they reached the age of ten, to satisfy the appetite of your all-consuming virtues? Even now, your husband lies on the point of death, wounded for his ideals. And now, you will live, live in terrible agony, with your morals as your sole companions."
Before she could react, a horrific, almost-skeletal, not nearly human, hand withdrew a wand and shot a curse at Minerva. There was a moment of undefined suffering as the curse connected, but soon, the pain settled heavily in her shoulder. Thrashing against the pain, Minerva suddenly felt two hands shaking her, pulling her out of the gloom and loneliness. Two strong, loving hands pulled her into a warming, shielding embrace. It was Albus, everything was going to be all right now.
For a long breath, Albus simply held Minerva, his fingers slowly tracing intertwining patterns on Minerva's back.
Finally he spoke, "Minerva, are you all right?"
"I'm fine." A short, irritable reply.
"Minerva, tell me the truth."
"I had a nightmare, Albus. It was of no consequence." She answered stiffly. She was too frightened of what she had marked to give it voice in the waking world.
Her husband sighed and pulled her in closer, "Oh, Tabby, what has frightened you so badly that you won't even tell me?"
Here, in his arms, with the lovely smell of the hot cocoa that he frequently spilled on his robes, and the lemon drops he constantly consumed, Minerva nearly forgot the pain of the intense loneliness the dream had invoked.
"Was it about the baby?" Only then did Minerva realize her hand had been protectively covering her belly. Relaxing into his embrace, Minerva let the pressing tears slide down her cheeks as she told him the whole story.
"Does your shoulder still hurt?" Albus scrutinized her face, caringly.
"Only a little," Minerva impatiently replied, He's entirely missing the point! "But, dear, what about the children? What if…"
"Aaahhh, Tabby, we've been over this. If we lived in what if's we'd never live at all," Albus gently kissed her on the cheek, then leaned down to the pillows again, "We'll do our best to protect our children, Minerva, that's all any parent can ever do. It's like that French Muggle Playwright, Voltaire I think his name was, said, 'until then, we till the soil.' Until the world is free from evil, we must simply do the best we can." His arm pulling her back to bed effectively ended the conversation.
After the holidays, life flowed fairly smoothly. The Ministry was careful to keep the story of the attack out of public eye and ear reach, so parents felt no compunction at sending their children to a school so recently perpetrated.
The attack had changed one thing. It confirmed Albus' concerns for Minerva's safety. They both decided that the recent chain of events commanded a strong resolve of secrecy. Not only would their marriage remain hidden, it was imperative that their child be kept a secret as well. This proved a little complex at first. Minerva, now fully two months pregnant, was experiencing signs of morning sickness. While it failed to interrupt her teaching schedule her inability to eat breakfast had given the other staff members pause, and Minerva was receiving a disconcerting number of inquiries as to her health. Healer Bancroft had swiftly provided a remedy for the situation at her next appointment, and made her promise to rest more often.
Their biggest obstacle in maintaining secrecy proved to be Albus. Normally, Minerva would cringe at his often dangerously obvious public displays of affection or shake her head, patronizingly. But now that Minerva carried his child, Albus Dumbledore found her simply irresistible. Once or twice, at meals, he had tried to reach over and place his hand on her stomach. He was swiftly rubbutted, however, by a sharp, meaningful pinch. And there were several second glances when the Headmaster started carrying books for the Deputy Headmistress. Members of the staff caught Dumbledore staring at the Deputy Headmistress during meetings, a puzzlingly euphoric smile lounging dreamily in his features. On one occasion, a first-year excavating some ancient herbology text came upon the Headmaster reading a book entitled, "Baby Names: Names that will Provide Your Child with the Best Advantage in Life" and scribbling on a rather long list.
These little episodes proved to be the main topic of conversation for Minerva and Poppy's weekly tea time for the next several weeks.
"Poppy, what am I going to do with him?" Minerva stood up with considerable effort, carrying a child for over four months had proved rather tiring, "I love the man more than anything in the world…"
"That's obvious," Poppy coughed from her seat, casually slipping behind her tea mug as she flashed a look at Minerva's slightly larger stomach. Now that the concealing charms were off, Poppy could see exactly how round her best friend's stomach had become. It had a strange effect, because Minerva was characteristically skinny. The slender figure was so picturesquely interrupted by this precocious little curve. Yet, Poppy knew how excited Minerva was, in her own quiet way, to have this "little curve" in her life.
"Poppy!" Minerva exclaimed, setting her tea cup down rather fiercely, causing tea to skip over the rim. "You're not helping!! This man is driving me mad!! One minute Albus is reminding me how important it is that this child remain a secret. Next thing I know, I he's running into the staff lounge asking if I think "Wilfred" would make a good third middle name! What am I going to do about him, Poppy?" Her energy spent, Minerva subsided into one of her stuffy, stiff chairs.
"Don't worry so much, Minerva!" Poppy smiled. Pushing her tea out of the way, she leaned across the stand to look Minerva in the eyes, "Now, answer me this. How old is Albus?"
"Over a hundred and twenty," Minerva dashed off, suspiciously second-guessing her friend.
"And has he ever been married before? Ever had a family? Ever had children he could call his own?"
"Well… No, but I know where you're going with this and…" Minerva's countenance soured resentfully.
"Then, I think" Poppy knocked the table as if laying down a physical proof, "that a 120 year-old man has the right to celebrate the arrival of his first child!" When Minerva simply sighed in frustration and began to gather the tea things, Poppy continued, "It took him this long to find the perfect woman. At the rate things were going between you two before this law…. Let's just say that I would have grandchildren before the two of you would have dared to have children. And don't try to deny it, Minerva, you know it's the truth! For the most powerful witch and wizard of the age, you two seem to be more afraid of the ordinary things than ordinary people!"
"Now, Poppy, that's hardly fair!" Minerva took a defensive stance with tea tray in hand, "After all, you were there during Grindelwald's reign! You know the kind of terrors he inflicted on people! How can you say that…"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Poppy scurried over, waving her hands as if fanning away flames. "You know I didn't mean it that way!" She took the tray from Minerva, "Now all I meant was, let Albus enjoy himself. Take a few risks, Min. You only have a firstborn once! Enjoy the experience! And get some rest! If you don't slow down, nothing Morton Bancroft can give you will keep you healthy!" With that, the mediwitch slid through the door.
Minerva strode forth from her office with every intention of getting a solid night's sleep. I haven't exactly been sleeping soundly she reminisced, these last few weeks the baby seems to have become a night owl. As an after thought, Minerva reached around to rub the rather strained mid-section of her back. She had been unable to find a comfortable position for repose, of late, and her back was beginning to complain.
Turning around a corner, an alarming sight met her eyes. Alex Fortinbras was there, in the corridor, pointing his wand at a miserable, greasy heap of robes cowering against the wall, "If I ever catch you consorting with such …" Both parties became aware of the Deputy's presence. Instantly the gangly mass of black robes became recognizable as Severus Snape, a third year Slytherin, who was shunned by the student populace. Minerva had always felt rather sorry for him. But now, interrupting this scene, she had seen the look of pervading guilt on both the Professor and the student's faces.
"Is something going on here, Professor?" Minerva delved into their expressions, trying to catch a hint of their previous conversation.
"Nothing that has not been dealt with, Professor McGonagall," Fortinbras mercurially jumped from guilt to a gilded countenance.
"Well, then, Snape, you may go." Minerva nodded to the dour student, "Professor, if I could see you in my office…" Minerva treaded her freshly laid steps, and was soon seated behind her desk.
"What is the meaning of this, Alexander?" remembering the Healer's admonitions to keep her temper in check, Minerva tried to remain collect. "You were directly threatening a student! That is unacceptable behavior from a professor! Severus Snape has enough trouble with student bullies, let alone professors who…"
"Minerva, wait!" Fortinbras' face became a thundercloud, "It's not what you think! That boy is up to no good!! I saw him messing around with several very dangerous Dark Arts curses in one of the spare classrooms! He was practicing some very dark curses, Minerva! That boy is no longer courting evil! He's practically bedding it! I've been watching him all year and …"
"Do you expect me to believe this solely on your word, Professor?" Minerva stood now, at this new threat to a student, "Simply because you don't like the look of a student, doesn't mean you start throwing accusations at him…"
"It's not just his look! Merlin, Minerva!" The Dark Arts Professor rose, too, and slammed a fist against the desk in frustration, "I know these things!!"
"How?!" Minerva challenged, getting ready for a verbal and possibly physical duel. "The Headmaster and I know practically nothing about you. Dumbledore himself told me he knew nothing of your back round, simply that you were strong in the Dark Arts! Personally, I find this a very shady concept, considering we have no idea how you acquired these skills!"
"How? HOW?!" his voice and his color rose to a louder, more fiery color with every word, "I'll tell you how! And sit down! You make me nervous." Minerva glared defiantly back, "SIT DOWN!" he unleashed a rare, explosive burst, and Minerva quickly complied. "You want to know why I have such a rapport with the Dark Arts? It started with Grindelwald, I was a young, dashing, talented wizard, living in Norway at the time. I had the most beautiful woman in the world. We were to be married in December of 1942, it seems so long ago now that I say it, thirty years! But nothing could have ruined out joy. We both stayed away from the fighting, and I had a steady job. I was a relations expert for the Norwegian Ministry. My fiancée, my Elise, she was traveling back from a visit to her mother, in Germany, you understand, by train. She had always insisted on such strange, Muggle methods of travel." The professor had taken to pacing around the room during his lecture, looking pointedly at his captive audience to emphasize a word, "But this time, her train was blown up by some stupid, thoughtless Muggle "resistance" worker. She was killed because they were trying to fight "Hitler". The fools, they thought that blowing up a few trains would overcome the magic of a wizard like Grindelwald. I was outraged, revenge became my bread and water. I joined Grindelwald. I did terrible things for him. I didn't even pay attention to wether it was right or wrong, I simply wanted to get back at whoever killed my Elise. But then, one day, I was told to bomb a factory that was a known resistance hideout. I stood outside the door of the factory waiting for the workers to go back to their shift, when I started to actually look at them. They were about the same age as Elise and I, and they would soon be obliterated, cast off, just as casually as my Elise had been killed. Grindelwald didn't care about that. In fact, he had wanted as many factory workers as possible to die, fewer Muggles to exterminate later. That's when I realized how wrong this was. So I ran away." Minerva was completely nonplussed. Her eyes simply gaped in shock unable to understand the horror of what he had told her. Fortinbras continued, "But I was too important for Grindelwald to simply let go. I knew too much to live. He sent many of his dark followers after me." He stopped and looked out the window, as if trying to behold anything but the myriad of faces he had slaughtered, "One of them was only a boy, about Severus' age. He was incredibly talented and dangerous. And when I had killed him, I wondered where his mother was right then. Did she know her son was lying dead in some street miles from her arms?" He pulled up a shaky breath, "That's why I threatened him, Minerva. That's why I teach defense against the dark arts. So we can be prepared for the next Dark Wizard who comes after our souls. That's why I yelled at him, so he never ends up lying dead in some street miles away from his home."
Slowly, Minerva's voice caught up with her, "Is that why you said you didn't like dealing with women? Do we all remind you of what you've done? Do we all remind you of her?" She asked, softly, caringly.
"You most of all," He smiled, getting ready to leave, "You see, she had hair and eyes just like yours, and when you laugh, it sounds very near hers."
"I see." Minerva stared awkwardly at a sheaf of papers on her desk.
"But, I will stop haunting you with the past, as it seems you have much more importantly plans for the future." He sent a last, indicative glance at her aberrantly un-concealed stomach and opened the door.
Cursing her clumsiness, Minerva cast a concealing charm and stood up. "Pro-Alex! Wait! I'm terribly sorry about… I mean, I never knew!"
"Funny, I seem to have said the same thing to you a few months ago." His sharp grin slid ironically around his face. "But, as you so aptly replied, you could not have known."
"About… About the b-baby," Minerva found herself foolishly tripping over the word when said out loud, "Please, don't tell anyone, we're trying to keep it a secret."
"You think you'll be safe because you hide, Minerva?" he sighed coldly, truly leaving this time, "It never works. I've spent my whole life trying to hide from something, and it always finds me."
A/N So, when I said two, I really meant three, and I realize this chapter is kind of disjointed and boring, but it had to be here. So the next two will be better. Reviews are Lovely!! Thank you for reading through eleven verbose chapters!