Thanks for the lovely reviews! Gilderoy action coming soon, I promise! :)
13 July 1992
Minerva frowned at the manuscript sitting before her, softly stroking her lips absentmindedly with the feathers of her quill as she read. It had been quite some time since she had moved from her position at the wooden desk in Malcolm and Helen's spare room (she had returned to Caithness for a week to visit her family during the holidays).
Yet despite the hardback chair she had been sitting in for hours, she was not uncomfortable so much engrossed was she in what she was doing; pouring over a folder containing research she and Albus had started years back but had never got round to finishing.
As she reached the end of Albus' quickly scrawled notes, the minuteness of the handwriting causing her eyes to grow sore, Minerva finally made the decision to call it a night and marked her page. She had just gathered her papers and closed the folder when there came a gentle knock at her door.
"Can I come in?" asked a voice, the owner of which having already poked their head around the door.
"I think you already have, Malcolm," Minerva replied, however, she waved her hand gesturing that he could enter.
Malcolm smiled gratefully and came in.
"I thought you were planning on having an early night?" she asked him.
"I was," he replied tiredly. "But I was called back into the office. Rita Skeeter decided to sneak a story into the Daily Prophet two minutes before we were meant to print." He sighed and sat down at the end of the bed. "Two hours later, and after many heated discussions with the team, we've managed to take it down."
"I'm sorry to hear we won't be having Rita's article to brighten our morning tomorrow."
Malcolm smirked and rested his chin on his hands. "Given how wonderful and complementary her articles are?"
"Of course," Minerva replied, catching his eye. "What was it about this time?"
"To be honest, I wasn't planning on telling you since we managed to get it out," he admitted truthfully. "Even by her standards, this one was quite nasty."
Minerva shifted her position warily. "Go on."
"Well, she wrote a lot of old waffle about Hogwarts," he said, passing a hand through his now greying hair. "In particular about the management – or in her words the 'lack' of proper management. She doesn't believe Dumbledore is best suited for the role of Headmaster."
"What rubbish," Minerva said, folding her arms crossly. "Why not?"
"His age, mainly, and the problems last year with that Professor who died. Skeeter is under the impression Dumbledore has proven he is unequal to the task of safely protecting students because he lacks judgment. Her words, not mine," he added quickly when he saw the look of outrage on his sister's face.
"That's-that's preposterous," Minerva spluttered heatedly. "Lacks judgment, my foot. Albus would never purposefully put a student in danger! And in terms of his age, well, Armando Dippet was 355 when he passed the title on to Albus. What an outrageous accusation," she repeated, breathing heavily.
"I know, that's what most of us thought when we saw it," Malcolm nodded. "And then we thought, I mean all right she's written quite uncomplimentary things about people, sure, but to write something inflammatory like that about Dumbledore..." he trailed away.
"You think someone told her to?"
He shrugged. "Some people aren't happy about the way Dumbledore runs the school-"
"Piffle," Minerva interrupted. "They're annoyed because his views aren't easily swayed."
"And he does what he wants."
"That too," Minerva acquiesced.
Malcolm smiled then suddenly sighed and stretched. "So what is this project you've been working on?" he asked finally, changing the topic and nodding in the direction of the large folder. "Looks complicated."
Minerva shrugged. "It's just some research," she said, absently twirling her quill between her fingers. "Human transfigurations – Albus and I are hoping we can find a way to shorten the process of turning into an animagus."
"Huh."
She smiled and got up to go to vanity to unpin her hair. "I can tell the topic fascinates you, Malcolm," she teased.
He held up his hands. "I never said a word."
"You didn't have to. You have a very readable face."
He smiled, albeit sadly, and nestled his head in the crook of his folded arms on the bedpost. "As do you," he said softly, watching as Minerva's raven black hair fell to her shoulders. "Mum wasn't any better... a family trait I suppose."
"Hm."
"Do you think about it sometimes?"
Minerva continued to plat her hair. "Think about what?" she asked carefully.
Malcolm sighed and shifted his position. "Why she gave up everything?"
"She didn't give up everything, Malcolm," Minerva said wearily. "Mum chose Dad over magic. She married, had children-"
"But she wasn't happy," interrupted Malcolm, "was she?"
Minerva sighed and put her hands in her lap; the loose plat she had been tying slowly unravelling. She turned to face Malcolm.
"Mum missed some aspects of the magical community, certainly. And at times she found things difficult, especially when we were younger," she began. "But she wasn't truly unhappy."
Malcolm looked down. It was rare for them to have these sorts of conversations, especially about their mother and father's relationship. However, with the recent engagement of Malcolm's youngest daughter to a muggle, Minerva had noticed that a lot of emotions both she and Malcolm had buried over the years were now resurfacing. And with Isobel and Martin's rapidly approaching wedding day, she had known it was only a matter of time before Malcolm raised the topic.
"Malcolm, the laws were different at that time. Witches and wizards could only tell their partners of their powers once a magical child was born," she reminded him gently. "After 15 years of marriage, finding out that your wife is a witch would be a surprise to anyone. Mum didn't go back to the magical community because she felt guilty, and she didn't want Dad feeling separate again."
"But he did."
"Maybe," Minerva said, struggling to find a way to get her point across. "But I think only because of how secretive Mum became about magic at home."
Malcolm didn't say anything and Minerva sighed, tucking some hair behind her ear.
"Look, Malcolm," she said. "As I said, laws have changed; the International Statute of Secrecy is no longer as strict as it used to be. You can't compare Isobel's situation in 1992 to Mum's in 1935."
"I suppose," he murmured.
Minerva nodded. "Isobel has the choice of telling Martin now, instead of years later when they have built their lives together. And she wants to tell him as soon as she can, you know that because she spoke to you about it," she continued. "Isobel is still intent on remaining as much a part of the wizarding community as you and I. Mum's situation and Isobel's could not be any more different," she said. "And have you ever seen Isobel happier than she is now?"
Malcolm looked up again. "No, I suppose not," he admitted.
"Then there you have it," Minerva told him, resting her case and turning to face the mirror to resume platting her hair.
She heard the springs of the bed creak as Malcolm stood up. Then, she felt a large pair of arms wrap around her.
"Thank you," Malcolm said. "I don't know what it is about this...I'm not against it just...I don't know..."
"You are simply looking out for your daughter, Malcolm," Minerva said, glancing up at him and patting his hand. "As all parents should when their child is involved," she added kindly.
"I think she would see it as me being nosy," he said, letting go
"Well, maybe a little," Minerva smiled, tying a red ribbon in her hair. "But really you just want to make sure she will be happy, and I am sure that she will be."
"You're right," he said, smiling too and then rubbing his eyes. "Gosh, I'm knackered," he said, yawning. "I've been working all hours this week - I should retire."
"You're barely fifty," Minerva laughed.
Malcolm shrugged. "Doesn't mean I shouldn't," he said, walking to the door and smiling briefly. "Night, Minerva. Sleep well.""You too," Minerva replied, getting up from her chair and moving to the bed as the bedroom door clicked shut.