The Comedy of Errors

The Comedy of Errors

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

Chapter 10: Catfight


Sweeping through the cloister into the staffroom, Minerva closed the door behind her with a bang, slammed her papers and books on the big table in the middle of the room, and walked over to the smaller one which stood under a shelf with cups in a corner. Talking a red and gold mug with the Gryffindor crest from the shelf, she poured coffee from the pot on the table into it, drank a bit and turned around, glaring at Severus Snape, who sat on a chair in the other corner, leafing through a magazine with a bored expression on his face. Noticing her gaze he lifted his head, but before he could utter a word, Minerva hissed at him, “Don’t you dare open your mouth, Severus Snape! I’m fed up with Slytherins today!”

Severus only rolled his eyes, but Filius Flitwick couldn’t hold himself back. “Dear me - now we only need Albus getting pissed off by a Gryffindor and we’re in for a really entertaining staff conference.”

Minerva sat down at the big table. Coldly she said, “I wouldn’t know any reason why the headmaster would be angry with Gryffindors, but I know at least one reason why I’m not happy with Ravenclaws today either.”

Now Severus was smirking. “We will have an entertaining conference!”

Pulling a note out of her folder, Minerva looked at the potion master. “An entertaining conference would mean one in which you don’t whine about your need for more funds. I wouldn’t like that today. I’ll need the time you usually waste with your complaints to work out a detention list. I have seven Slytherins and three Ravenclaws to punish.”

“Seven Slytherins?” Severus banged the magazine on the table. “What are you up to? A crusade against Slytherin? You’ve already cost us 43 points today!”

“Wrong, Severus,” Minerva corrected him icily. “I didn’t cost your students a single point. They did that themselves. And really - they were good at it today! First, three of your fifth years were late, then two others hadn’t done their homework and one of them even became impudent, maintaining I always give the Slytherins – and I quote - ‘an impossible amount’ of homework.”

“You do!” Severus hissed.

“Do I?” Minerva used her index finger to shove her square spectacles up the bridge of her nose. Looking at the potion master as if he were a bug that hadn’t been completely transformed into a button, she said, “Considering that the students of the other houses manage the same amount of homework, you finding it ‘impossible’ makes me wonder. Do you believe your Slytherins slower - or even thicker - than other students, Severus?” she asked sweetly.

“Good question, Minerva!” Stella Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, rose from her chair at the fireplace. “I sometimes wonder about that too.”

It was, as always, the round Herbology teacher Dee Sprout who tried to distract and calm her colleagues. Coming to the table with her teacup she looked at the clock over the door. “It’s ten after four,” she said. “I wonder where our Headmaster is.”

Tiny Filius Flitwick, sitting on a pile of pillows, looked up from the essays he was grading. “I remember once in 1999, Albus was on time for a staff conference …”

“If memory doesn’t fail me, he was even three minutes early,” Valerian Vector added. “Someone had bewitched his clock. It was set one half hour before the actual time.”

“Minerva, don’t you know where the Headmaster is and when he’ll be here?” Steven Barrings, the young DADA teacher, asked. “You know I’ve got a date for dinner.”

“Don’t we all?” snorted Severus.

Minerva ignored him and looked at the DADA teacher. In a voice dripping with sarcasm, she said, “I’m terribly sorry, but in the job description for Deputy Headmistress there is nothing about babysitting the Headmaster.”

“But you usually know his whereabouts!” Stella Sinistra stated.

Minerva normally liked her, but now she felt like hexing the Astronomy witch. She hadn’t seen Albus for two days and, although she’d hated it, when Delenn told her two days ago that he would be spending the night in town, she’d needed all her self-discipline to finish the conversation with the secretary before she started crying.

She’d known what this meant. He was with a woman. Although she’d been prepared for this happening sooner or later, she would have preferred later - very much later. Knowing that he was back to his old habits again had hurt. It was only eight weeks since they’d last been together - or was it in Albus’ case “already” eight weeks? To her it felt as if it were yesterday that she’d awakened in his arms. And now she missed him every morning and every night and during the days and she hated it and she scolded herself for lusting after a man who’d never love her and she felt betrayed by her body which longed for him and remembered his touch so well.

And then Delenn telling her that he was to meet “an old friend”! Minerva had tried to bury herself in her work that night; she’d tried to exhaust herself so thoroughly that she would fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, but it hadn’t worked. She’d been haunted all night by images of Albus kissing another woman, whispering tender words to her, stroking and touching her.

She’d never been jealous before. Augustus had never given her a reason. But now, with Albus, in one night she’d become so closely acquainted with the green-eyed monster that she almost felt like keeping it as a pet.

In the morning, after a sleepless night and feeling as if she’d been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs, she’d been glad that Albus hadn’t appeared at breakfast. She wouldn’t have known how to face him. Two hours later, in a break between classes, she’d entered her study where she found a note on her desk, “I’m back. Thank you for keeping the flag up! A.”

For the next few hours Minerva had battled with herself. One part of her hadn’t wanted to go down for lunch. The other had scolded her for being a coward. “Are you a Gryffindor or aren’t you?” a voice had hissed in her head. “You’ll have to face him - so get it over with. It won’t get easier if you chicken out now.”

Approaching the teacher’s table, she’d found Albus’ chair empty. Severus had informed her then that the assistant potion instructor had had a little incident during his class - nothing serious, but he wouldn’t be up to teaching that afternoon. “Albus has taken over.”

That had been the last information Minerva had received. Albus had neither appeared at dinner the evening before nor at breakfast and lunch today.

But now he was here, just entering the staffroom, wearing a green robe with gold embroidery. His hair was bound back in a ponytail and, looking at his face, Minerva choked in shock. Albus looked dreadful! His face was almost as white as his hair, his lips dry and raw and his eyes, surrounded by dark shadows, glimmered feverishly. Standing behind his chair at the head of the table, he cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded so hoarse it was almost inaudible. “I’m sorry to be late - I was held up by my lunch appointment.”

Suddenly Minerva’s new pet raised its ugly head again. The monster in her mind hissed and started to send her the images which had already pained her during the previous night. She was almost sure the “lunch appointment” had been the woman he’d spent the night in London with. And this lady - probably a lush blonde with big breasts - obviously was very demanding and had tired her lover out with what he called “lunch”.

Minerva starred at her folder, fighting the rage and the pain she was feeling. She almost didn’t hear the scraping of chairs around the table as the rest of her colleagues sat down, and Albus had to call on her twice before she managed to look up at him from cold eyes. “Yes, Headmaster?”

He furrowed his brow, irritated by her gaze and the formal address. “What’s on your agenda for today, Minerva? Anything important?”

He obviously hadn’t bothered to look at the list she’d sent up to his office. He probably hadn’t found the time for it because he’d been so busy with his newest conquest. Minerva swallowed the lump in her throat and answered his question sharply, “I always try not to bore you with trivialities, but because you obviously couldn’t bring yourself to read the list I sent up, I’ll repeat the items for you.” Reading the list in front of her out loud, she felt Albus’ eyes on her - and without looking at him, she knew that the two wrinkles between his brows had deepened, as they always did when he was angry. And yes, she was well aware that her behaviour towards him wasn’t as respectful as would have been appropriate around her superior, but for once she couldn’t bring herself to care.

As she finished with her agenda, she looked up - and indeed, Albus was angry. He’d laid the tips of his fingers together and was studying them, breathing deeply before he slowly said, “Well - I’ve got two items also. I saw our minister the other day and talked with him about the Fivewizards Tournament next year. Also, I was asked by our governors about a parent’s day at Hogwarts. I haven’t yet made a decision. I wanted to talk with you about it first.” While he’d spoken, his voice had become even huskier. Now he coughed and cleared his throat again. “Sorry - I’ve obviously caught a little flu.”

“A little flu?” Valerian Vector raised an eyebrow. “Honestly Albus, you look as if someone had stolen your blanket for the last few nights.”

“Knowing Albus’ taste in bed companions, I’d imagine a blanket stealer would find another way to warm him,” commented Filius Flitwick. “So his getting the flu means he had to sleep in a lonely, cold bed.”

Albus rolled his eyes. “I was going to ask if we had anything else to discuss, but I really didn’t intend to make speculations about my love life a subject.”

“Well,” Severus Snape snorted, “your love life certainly would be more interesting than listening to Minerva’s eternal rant about getting exam papers too late.”

“You wouldn’t have to listen to my eternal rant if you’d give me your papers on time for once!” Minerva snapped. “Considering that you rarely do more than put the questions you ask every year in another order, I really don’t know why you always need to brood about the exams for so long.”

Severus showed his teeth in a malicious smile. “Minerva, I know you don’t have clue about potions. But why do you bother reading my exams if you don’t understand them?”

“Perhaps because I always have to correct your spelling mistakes?” Minerva shot back. “I know our Slytherin pureblood elite don’t like sending their children to primary school, but other people like correct spelling, Severus, you know?”

Now Severus looked as if he would explode in the next minute. “Where did you ever find a spelling mistake in a paper of mine?” he hissed.

“In your last OWL exam, dear Severus!” Minerva gave back with her sweetest smile. “There were two mistakes, to be exact.”

She really would have liked to rub it in even more, but now Albus interrupted her, sounding very cross, “Minerva, could you – just this once - stop your bickering with Severus? When I last looked I was Headmaster of a school, not a kindergarten!”

Minerva balled her fists. She felt like hexing first Severus and then Albus. Or even better, throttling him slowly, enjoying every second of it! What the hell did this man think? Hadn’t he seen that Severus had provoked her? But probably he was thinking of his new lady friend and had therefore missed how this miserable, sneering Slytherin had started the row.

In former times he always had noticed such things. He’d rarely interfered, but when she’d looked at him, she’d seen an amused twinkle which immediately brightened her mood. So Severus had rarely managed to get under her skin. But now Albus didn’t care about her anymore. He had a new love and she was just another number on his long list of ex-lovers; he probably even wished now that she would disappear from his life, sparing him the embarrassment of dealing with her on a daily basis.

Oh Merlin - how had she gotten herself into a situation like this? And why did she - furious as she was, full of anger and frustration - still love him?

But at least he couldn’t complain that she wasn’t functioning perfectly. A part of her acted the calm, collected Deputy Headmistress, talking about school business, asking her colleagues’ opinions about timetables for the upcoming exams, making notes - the usual professional routine. And even during the debate about the Fivewizards Tournament, the professional part of her managed coolly, and at least appeared concentrated, though she certainly didn’t feel so.

Parent’s day - the last item on the agenda. Minerva didn’t like the idea much, and for once she was in agreement with Severus about something - and in opposition to Albus, Filius Flitwick, and Divinations teacher Sybil Trelawney, who thought it would be fun, that the students would enjoy it, and that it would make for a better connection between the parents and the school.

Minerva, on the other hand, saw the problems a parent’s day would produce. There were the Muggle parents - wouldn’t they find Hogwarts with the ghosts and the moving stairs and the talking portraits and the Forbidden Forest frightening? And what about the students? It was difficult enough to get the children from wealthy pureblood families together with the Muggleborn students and the pupils who came from rather poor families. At Hogwarts, wearing the school uniform, they at least looked like equals. But with their parents around the difference would once again become evident.

Minerva tried to explain her reasons against it. “Besides,” she concluded her speech on the subject, “we have around 60 students who were orphaned during the war. Some of them are being raised by their grandparents; others have guardians - older people in most cases. I don’t think they’d enjoy a parent’s day; it would be a sad day for these students.”

“Minerva, I think we can make up for this. And our students could really do with some fun,” Albus disagreed.

Minerva felt the anger in her boil up once again. “For heaven’s sake, Albus - life isn’t all about fun, even if it is one of the most important items on your agenda!”

Sweet Circe! She hadn’t intended to speak that last out loud. Her Scottish temper had gotten the best of her and now her colleagues - who weren’t used to Minerva lashing out at Albus - gasped. Dee Sprout looked as if she wanted to hide under the table; Severus seemed immensely amused, waiting with his arms crossed over his chest for what would happen next; Stella Sinistra played with her papers as if she didn’t want to be there; Valerian Vector rolled his eyes at Minerva while Filius Flitwick looked rather sad.

Albus in the meantime braced his shoulders and took his spectacles off. Massaging the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger he said, “We needn’t decide about the parent’s day now. It’s already late - so let’s table the subject until our next staff conference. Thank you and have a nice evening!” He put his papers back in his folder, but didn’t stand up as Minerva had expected. Instead, he laid his hands on the folder and looked at Minerva while the other teachers left the room.

Minerva suddenly felt like fleeing. She didn’t want to be alone with Albus! Collecting her papers, she stood up and walked to the door. Perhaps he’d give her a chance to calm herself, perhaps he understood that she couldn’t talk to him right now, perhaps he …

“Minerva - please. I’d like you to stay for a moment.” He obviously didn’t want to give her some space. His voice, although very husky and tired, held a commanding power she couldn’t remember him ever using on her.

She didn’t turn around. Swallowing, she looked over her shoulder. “Yes, Headmaster?”

“Would you please close the door?”

Minerva nodded and obeyed, then she turned to him, “Well?”

He’d braced his arm on the table, his hand against his forehead. Without looking at her he said, “Minerva, I’m well aware that this situation is difficult for you. And I’m sorry about that. But please - don’t force me to pull rank on you again!” There was something like a warning in his voice - and it made Minerva even more angry.

Coldly she said, “I didn’t know that disagreeing with you could be construed as undermining the hierarchy, Headmaster.”

“Professor McGonagall,” now he took up the formal address too, “you know I wasn’t referring to a disagreement about a fact!” He looked up at her now, the two wrinkles on his forehead showing that he was very angry.

“I know?” she snapped. “Yes, probably I do. In fact, I’ve been feeling as though I know too much for the last two days!”

Now he rose and, towering over her, thundered, “I expect you to keep your jealousy out of our professional relationship, Minerva! Besides …”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Minerva’s temper boiled over. Her body seemed to act on its own accord. She felt her hand land hard - so hard it hurt her too - on his cheek and then she heard herself yelling, “Go to hell, Albus Dumbledore!” Blinded by tears she stormed out of the staffroom and down the cloister.

She didn’t know how she’d made it up the stairs and into her chambers, but sitting on her bed, she slowly came back to herself - and the thought of what she’d just done hit her like the slap had hit Albus. She had hit her superior. She had slapped her best friend, the wizard she respected more than every other person alive, the man she loved. She’d slapped him because he had spoken the truth, because he’d seen through her once again, recognizing her behaviour towards him as jealousy.

How long had she been sitting on her bed? For once she’d forgotten about the time, but now she looked at the clock on her nightstand. Eight o’clock, the sun was just setting. Minerva stood up and, without thinking about it, raised her hands to see if her bun was still neatly in place. As she had run up to her chambers, a few of the pins had come loose. Minerva tucked the first back as she’d done a thousand times before. But suddenly she stopped what she was doing, looking in the mirror on her dressing table. Once again a realization hit her: She wouldn’t need the bun anymore. Once, as a young teacher, she’d decided upon it because the bun was neat and made her look professional. But now she wouldn’t be a teacher any longer. She’d raised her hand against her superior, and as forgiving a man as Albus Dumbledore had always been - he was a proud man also. Minerva was almost sure that being slapped wasn’t something he could forgive. And even if he could - she wasn’t sure if she would be able to look at him, knowing how she’d humiliated him.

She knew that he wouldn’t sack her. But he certainly expected her to draw the conclusion. She was ready for it - and fiercely determined to show at least some style by handing in her notice. Whatever Albus had done - it had been she who’d overstepped the boundaries, and therefore she owed him an apology.

Sighing deeply, she pulled all pins out of the bun and shook her head. Her hair fell down over her shoulders now, surrounding her head and neck like a curtain. It felt oddly comforting and at the same time sad. Combing through the black waves with spread fingers, Minerva could hear Albus’ voice again, “Melusine! You look like Melusine, the mermaid, with your hair down.”

Slowly she walked out of her flat and down the stairs. A few students crossed her path, looking amazed at her. Even her Gryffindors had never seen her with her hair down and they obviously understood that this change of appearance meant that something serious had happened.

“Professor McGonagall?” At the entrance to the tower the Head Girl, a pale blonde with watery blue eyes, had crossed her path. Now she looked worriedly at her Head of House. “Are you unwell?”

Minerva forced herself to smile. “I’m fine, Miss Pringles.” It touched her that the girl obviously cared for her.


A few minutes later Minerva entered the office of Albus’ secretary, not too surprised to find Delenn March still at her desk. But then the young woman looked at her with a rather lopsided smile. “I didn’t know legilimency worked at a distance, but you’ve obviously read my thoughts. I was just thinking about calling you.”

“What happened, Delenn?” Minerva asked, immediately becoming worried.

The secretary pointed with her chin up to Albus’ private rooms. “The Headmaster - I’m afraid he isn’t well - for days actually. And now …,” she became silent, obviously torn between discretion and worry. The last won. “He looked rather groggy when he came down this morning and I think he was suffering with a terrible headache. He was massaging his temples as we spoke about the day’s work, and he was sweating even though the window was open and the room was actually rather chilly. And lunch with Mister Cracklebell didn’t improve the Headmaster’s condition, I believe. Coming back he looked even worse. After the staff conference he told me that he would need a moment to himself and didn’t want to be disturbed. Since then I have neither seen nor heard him.”

Minerva felt her stomach clench. “I’ll look after the Headmaster,” she announced, and marched out of the office and up the stairs which led to Albus’ living room. Knocking at the door, she called cautiously, “Albus? May I come in?” She didn’t dare to breathe while waiting, but she didn’t hear a single sound from inside. Slowly counting to 30, she knocked again. “Albus?” Once again she waited, her head crooked, her ear almost touching the wood of the door. But once again she didn’t get an answer. Breathing deeply and telling herself that he had probably fallen asleep - he’d looked tired enough - she opened the door and looked in. “Albus?” she asked for the third time, cautiously stepping over the threshold.

The room beyond wasn’t only dark but cold and, pulling her wand out, Minerva felt a draught of chilly air. Obviously one of the windows was open. Had Albus changed into his phoenix form and flown away?

Minerva raised her wand. “Lumos!” she commanded and looked around.

The first thing she saw was the fallen chair. Her feeling of unease increased, and with her heart hammering hard she stepped closer until her foot slipped on the carpet. Directing her wand down, the light fell on a dark, wet spot. Minerva gasped, and at the moment she recognized it as blood, she saw the dark shape beyond it. “Albus! Oh heavens, Albus!” she cried.

Falling down on her knees next to him, she let her hand glide over his cheek to his neck. His skin felt hot and at the same time clammy, but she heard him breathing - with a terrible rattle, but at least regularly. And now her fingertips found his pulse - it was way too quick, but strong and for a second Minerva allowed herself a relieved sob. But then she rose and ran to the fireplace, throwing floo powder in it and screaming, “Hospital wing!”

To her it seemed like an eternity until Poppy Pomfrey’s head appeared in the flames. “What’s the matter, Minerva?”

“It’s Albus, Poppy! In his living room. He’s unconscious,” Minerva cried.

“Step aside. I’m coming through.”

Minerva turned to Albus, once again getting on her knees. He lay on his belly, his head to the side. She couldn’t see from where the blood seeped and she didn’t dare turn him, but stroked one finger over his cheek. “Oh, Albus - dear Albus …”

A rumble from the fireplace - Poppy had arrived. Pulling her wand out, she kneeled down, let the wand hover over Albus’ body and murmured a diagnostic spell. Minerva anxiously watched the concentrated face of the mediwitch. She obviously didn’t like what her wand was telling her. Shaking her head, she cast another spell, then she looked at Minerva. “This stubborn idiot!”

“What is it?” Minerva asked, sounding almost hysterical.

Poppy sighed, her hand feeling Albus’ pulse at his neck. “I’m guessing it’s a combination of exhaustion and a flu he allowed to drag on until it became pneumonia. But whatever it is - I can’t treat him here.” She rose, conjured a stretcher and cast a charm to lift Albus onto it. “So - I’ll get him to the infirmary.”

“I’ll come with you!” Minerva stood up, looking down at Albus, who lay on the stretcher as if he were asleep. Only the blood - and now Minerva could see the nasty laceration just over his right temple where he obviously had hit his head falling down - which had run down his face told her that he wasn’t enjoying sweet dreams.

Poppy had used the back stairs in the main tower to direct the stretcher down to the hospital wing. Entering, she briefly looked at Minerva. “Please - wait in my office. I’ll come to you as soon as I’m done with Albus.”

Minerva swallowed her protest. She knew that Poppy wouldn’t allow her to remain at Albus’ side - and it was probably better this way. Poppy would get Albus conscious again and under the circumstances Minerva wasn’t sure if he’d want to see her when he woke up. But leaving him and going into Poppy’s office, sitting down in the chair in front of the fireplace, was hard. Minerva felt tears running down her face as she looked into the flames.

A combination of exhaustion and pneumonia - this explained why his cheek had felt so clammy. Albus had been feverish. And hadn’t Delenn mentioned that Albus had suffered from a headache?

Delenn - she was probably still sitting in her office, worrying and waiting for Minerva.

Minerva wiped the tears from her face and stood up, throwing floo powder into the flames. “Delenn March’s office!” she called.

Delenn answered immediately. “Yes, Minerva?”

Minerva breathed deeply. “You were right, Delenn,” she said wearily. “The headmaster has fallen ill. I found him unconscious in his living room. Now he’s in the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey is looking after him.”

Delenn closed her eyes for a moment. “Oh Merlin - that doesn’t sound good. Could you perhaps inform me when you know more?”

“I will,” Minerva promised. “But don’t stay in the office all night. It’s already late and I don’t know how long Madame Pomfrey will need to treat the Headmaster. I’ll call you later in your quarters.”

“Thank you, Minerva.” Delenn swallowed. “Until later!”

“Yes - we’ll talk later.” Minerva closed the connection and sat down again. Her knees were weak and her stomach still clenched. Folding her hands in her lap, she tried to calm down, but her heart wouldn’t stop beating hard. In all these years with Albus she’d never seen him seriously sick. Of course - in winter he suffered now and then from rheumatics, and a few times he’d caught the flu, but usually Albus was full of energy and exceptionally healthy.

Exhaustion - how could he be suffering from exhaustion? The man who during the war had managed a school, advised an unable Minister, and organized the resistance breaks down now because he is exhausted?

Minerva remembered the last weeks before the Order had started its attack on Voldemort. Albus had worked day and night - planning, collecting information, talking to members of the Order, persuading allies. Three days before the planned battle Molly Weasley and Minerva had stopped him. As he’d entered the kitchen in the Order’s headquarters, they’d closed the door behind him and then Molly had said - with the voice she normally used with her men folk, “You sit down on your arse now, Albus and eat a proper dinner. Even you can’t live only on sweets and sandwiches.”

And while she’d served him soup, homemade bread, lamb chops, boiled potatoes and vegetables, Minerva had made it clear that they wouldn’t let him go after dinner. “You won’t work through another night, but go to bed. The Order needs you at your best, Albus Dumbledore, and that means that you’ll get yourself some rest. You’ll sleep at least eight hours.”

He’d protested, but Molly and Minerva had threatened to hex him and so he’d actually gone to bed, finally admitting that he was dog tired. But after only six hours he’d been up, once again almost bursting with non-stop energy.


“Minerva?” Poppy entered her office, a tray with potions in her hand. Putting it down on her desk, she said, “He insists on seeing you.”

Minerva was already on her feet. “He’s better?”

“Yes. But please, remember that he’s really sick and needs rest. I’ll give you three minutes, but don’t get him excited,” Poppy sounded very serious.

Minerva only nodded. She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat.

“Well …” Now Poppy smiled encouraging. “Go - before he falls asleep. And …,” she hesitated, breathing deeply, “Listen to your heart, Minerva, not your pride!”

It was only a few steps from Poppy’s office to the room reserved for teachers, but to Minerva it felt like miles. Knocking at the door, she quietly entered and pushed herself forward to the bed.

Poppy had healed the wound on Albus’ head and washed the blood away, but he nevertheless looked sick and very vulnerable, lying on the pillows with closed eyes, his face as white as his hair. But what shocked Minerva most was his hand. The left one was hidden under the blanket, but the right lay on his chest, powerless and pale.

“Albus …” Minerva sat down on the chair next to the bed. With one finger she stroked his arm, tears running down her face. “I’m so terribly sorry …”

“Hush, Minerva!” His voice wasn’t more as a whisper. Opening his eyes, he slipped his left hand over hers. “I provoked you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Minerva swallowed. “But don’t let’s talk about it. How do you feel, Albus?”

He tried a smile, but it looked very weak. “Lousy describes it rather precisely.”

“You must rest, Albus,” Minerva whispered. “I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Yes, but nevertheless you’ll have to take over, Minerva.” He coughed, panting and struggling for air.

Minerva felt tears on her face again. It ached to see him like that and she laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t you worry about the school, Albus,” she said, feeling helpless. “The only important thing now is that you get better soon.” She stood up. “Therefore I’ll leave you now. You need to rest.”

He didn’t let her hand go. “Minerva,” he was interrupted by more coughing. “I want you to know something,” he whispered, his breath rattling. “The night I was away …”

“Albus - you don’t have to tell me anything! Please, just rest!” Minerva begged him.

“Minerva - I didn’t sleep with her,” he whispered.

Minerva didn’t know what to say. Bending over him, she kissed his clammy forehead. “Get better soon, Albus!”


On tiptoe she left his room. Quietly closing the door behind her, she braced herself with both hands against the wall of the corridor. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, telling herself that Albus was out of danger, that he would recuperate, that he’d be on his feet again in only a few days, that tomorrow he would probably start protesting against being kept in the infirmary, and that she didn’t need to fear for him so much.

But all her reassurances didn’t help much. She couldn’t push the memory of Augustus away. She hadn’t been at his side during the Final battle, instead leading a group of Gryffindors while he was with his students. She remembered him standing on top of the oil platform they’d fought on, a proudly erect figure, white robes fluttering in the wind. When Voldemort had fallen, Minerva looked at the upper part of the platform again, expecting to see Augustus there. But he wasn’t standing there anymore. She saw only his students, with hanging heads and slumped shoulders, gathered around something. Storming up the stairs, she was caught by Lorcan O’Donnell, Augustus’ assistant and - as they sometimes had joked - his “almost son”. Tears were running down his face. “I’m so sorry, Minerva! I should have looked after him better!”

Someone had already turned Augustus on his back and closed his eyes. He lay in the middle of the circle of his students, his right hand on his chest, the left at his side, head slightly crooked. He looked like a peaceful sleeper, but when she took him in her arms, his head fell back like a doll’s.

“Minerva.” Poppy laid her arm around Minerva’s shoulder. “Come - let’s go to my office and have cocoa. Come - just come.” Tenderly she led Minerva back to her office and placed her in the chair in front of the fire again. “Minerva, Albus will recuperate. He’ll need a few days, but then he’ll be as good as new,” she said, and patting Minerva’s hand, added, “I’ll get us cocoa and then you’ll calm down, won’t you?”

“I promised to inform Delenn as soon as I knew more,” Minerva remembered.

“Then do so while I get us the cocoa,” Poppy responded.


A few minutes later a house elf apparated with the usual “plop”, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of Ginger Newts. Poppy released the elf with a friendly “thank you” and, sitting down on the chair next to Minerva, gave her one of the mugs. She waited until Minerva had sipped at it, then she breathed deeply and looked seriously at her friend. “Minerva, you know I’m normally not allowed to give away details about a patient’s condition, but in this case I think I must make an exception - and not only because you’re Albus’ deputy and need to inform the staff and the students, but mainly because I think that you’re very much involved in what led to this breakdown.”

Minerva looked down at her mug. “If I had known …,” she started.

“Minerva,” Poppy interrupted her softly, but firmly, “I’m not trying to reproach you. Just hear me out, will you?”

Minerva nodded. “Of course, Poppy.”

“Good girl!” The mediwitch patted with a smile Minerva’s arm, but immediately became serious again. Rising, she marched to the shelf where a silver instrument ticked. “Albus is sleeping now,” she said. Turning back to the fireplace, and smiling in a rather lopsided way, she sat down again. “Sometimes a mediwitch not only has to treat the body of a patient, but his heart and soul too. I believe Albus is such a case. In medical terms, he suffers from pneumonia. And with him being in a state of utter exhaustion, it will be a bumpy ride until he recovers.”

“But how and why did he become so exhausted?” Minerva cried.

“In medical terms again, his exhaustion is caused by lack of sleep, malnourishment, misuse of drugs …”

“What?” Minerva interrupted.

“Calm down, Minerva!” The mediwitch said a bit impatiently. “I didn’t accuse our Headmaster of smoking the wrong stuff. I said misuse of drugs but I meant medical potions - like sleeping draughts, painkillers and pepper ups. I’ll have a talk with Severus about this subject tomorrow. It’s bad enough that Albus believes he can treat himself. Severus mustn’t support him in that by delivering the potions.”

“You know, Albus is a potion master himself,” Minerva said.

Poppy sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately. Slytherin potion masters are the worst patients one can have. They try to cure themselves until they’re in a really bad state - as Albus was. He didn’t develop this pneumonia in a few days, you know? He’s bred it over many, many days.”

“But how did he get it? He’s always been so healthy,” Minerva wondered.

“I suppose it started with a bout of his rheumatics and a little flu. He tried to suppress it with painkillers but, because his immune system is not working properly at the moment, it developed to this state,” Poppy answered.

Minerva shook her head. “You said yourself that he’s in good shape for a man of his age.”

Poppy looked gravely. “Minerva, I don’t have to tell you that body and soul are very much connected. In a way you could say Albus was always very fit and healthy because he wanted to be.”

“And now he doesn’t want to be?” Minerva sounded sceptical. “But why, Poppy?”

“Once again in medical terms, he’s suffering from a serious depression. Between you and me, Minerva, I’d describe this condition as ‘heartbroken’. And that’s where you come in,” Poppy stated calmly.

“Me?” Minerva almost screamed. Shaking her head, she tried to proceed more quietly, “You’re wrong, Poppy. I’m the one who suffers from unrequited love while he’s the one who was away when this came up.” Breathing deeply, she added, “Don’t get me wrong, Poppy. I’m not accusing Albus. My falling in love with him was certainly not on his agenda when we became closer to one another.” Only a few hours ago the thought of talking about her feelings would have made Minerva cringe in horror. But now it was a relief to tell Poppy. “Albus wanted nothing more than a nice little affair without any commitment. And I agreed to this, and promised to handle it like an adult, but then I behaved like a silly teenager. I fell in love with him. I suddenly started to get weak knees and a fluttering heart when he was around, and I found myself dreaming of such rubbish as telling him, and him falling down on his knees, revealing that he loves me too.”

“But he didn’t?” Poppy asked softly.

Minerva used the backside of her hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Of course he didn’t. We’re talking about Albus Dumbledore, Poppy! When I told him that I’m in love with him, he looked profoundly shocked, and like he wanted to run away and hide. But of course he acted the perfect gentleman, apologizing for causing me any inconvenience before he fled.”

“And so you became certain that he doesn’t love you?” Poppy still sounded soft and calm.

“He told me so, Poppy. He said he wasn’t able to fall in love anymore and apologized again …” Another tear ran down over Minerva’s face, but she didn’t bother with it. Instead she looked at Poppy. “Don’t tell me I’m an idiot who should have known better. That’s what I’ve been telling myself ever since.”

Poppy studied the contents of her cup. “I won’t call you an idiot for not knowing better. I call you one for telling Albus that way, and I call you one for believing his words more than his actions,” she said slowly.

“What? I should have lied to him?” Minerva sounded offended. “Poppy!”

The mediwitch shook her head. “Well, Minerva, let’s be honest. You’re a Gryffindor. And as such you sometimes act with the subtlety of a bludger.”

“Thank you!” Minerva hissed. “That was just what I needed.”

“Oh, you’ll be getting even more from this department, Minerva.” Poppy’s blue eyes had become cool. With her chin she pointed to the infirmary. “I have a patient there - a patient who happens to be someone I consider a friend and who’s a man I adore. He suffers from pneumonia and he would have died if you hadn’t found him before the fever increased so much his heart couldn’t take anymore. I think such a situation calls for plain speaking, Minerva. And although I don’t think he behaved wisely - at the moment I’m talking to you, Minerva.”

“And what do you think I should have done?” Minerva sounded hurt and bitter.

Poppy put her cup down. Looking at the fire she asked, “Minerva, could you for a moment forget about what Albus said? Just think how it felt when you were with him. Did he treat you like someone he doesn’t care about?”

“Of course not,” Minerva protested. “I wouldn’t have let him, but besides, I know he cares for me and …”, her voice became soft and sad. “Oh, Poppy! You said once that he had the talent for making a woman feel beautiful and very special. You were right. Even with Augustus I never felt so feminine, so endearing, so …,” she blushed, but proceeded bravely, “… sexy. Albus is a marvellous lover - and more. Even outside the bedroom he showed me so much tenderness and care that during those days with him I felt like I was wrapped in …,” she searched for a word.

“Love,” Poppy said. “He wrapped you in love, Minerva - so much so that your heart responded by loving him back.”

Minerva was crying again. Sobbing she whispered, “But he said he couldn’t love me.”

“But after separating from you he fell into a depression. What does this tell you, Minerva?” Poppy asked.

“I don’t know,” Minerva sobbed. “I don’t understand that man.”

Poppy smiled. “Understanding Albus Dumbledore is something even the brilliant Albus Dumbledore hasn’t mastered entirely, I imagine. Especially when it comes to love he seems to be lost. Love is probably the only thing on earth he’s really afraid of. And at the same time it’s the thing he craves most.”

“I would give him love if only he’d take it from me,” Minerva whispered. “I wouldn’t even care about him not loving me back.”

“But he does!” Poppy almost screamed. “That’s what I’m trying to hammer into your stubborn Gryffindor head! Minerva, he loves you - he has loved you for years! Only he didn’t admit it to himself because you were his friend’s wife. And now he’s so used to denying his love for you, and suffering from his bottled up emotions that he doesn’t even see the light anymore!” Laying her hand on Minerva’s arm, she said emphatically, “What Albus needs - more than any potion I can give him, more than any healing charm I’m able to cast - is a strong and wise woman who loves him enough to trust him when he doesn’t trust himself, and to believe in him when he has lost belief. And I think you’re just the woman for the job, Minerva.” Poppy smiled at her friend. “If he starts next time with this ‘I don’t love you’ nonsense - why don’t you stop his way-too-big mouth with a kiss? Even Albus Dumbledore isn’t able to talk with a tongue down his throat. And I’ve always thought that he talks too much.”

Minerva laughed through her tears. “So I told him during our first night together.”

“You should have kept that up, Minerva!” Poppy grinned. “The fewer chances to blubber nonsense he gets, the better for him.” She rose and marched over to the door leading to her store room. “So, my friend - now you’ll be a good girl.” She took a little vial down from a shelf, came back to Minerva and put it in her hand. “You’ll drink this. It’s a light sleeping draught which will calm you down. And then you’ll disappear to your bed. You’ll need your strength during the next few days. You’ll have to deal with a school and with a sick man who will need a lot of cuddling and caring to come around.”

Minerva nodded. Normally she didn’t like taking potions, but she knew that Poppy was right. She would need her strength. Gulping down the contents of the vial, she shuddered. “Brr - I could almost admire Albus for the bravery with which he drank Severus’ potions.” Rising, she gave Poppy the empty bottle and took her in her arms. “Thank you, Poppy. You’re a real friend and I’m glad to have you.”

“You know I don’t entirely detest you either, Minerva McGonagall,” Poppy gave back. “But now out and in bed with you!”

“Poppy - could I perhaps have a look at Albus?” Minerva asked. “I only want to see that he’s sleeping peacefully.”

“Of course - come.”

“And Poppy - promise me something. If his condition changes during the night, you’ll wake me, won’t you?” Minerva demanded.

Poppy sighed. “I’d better not promise because I’m afraid his condition will change - and then I’ll have my hands full with him. Pneumonia like the one Albus has normally leads to a crisis with a very high fever. I expect his fever will increase during the night. But you don’t have to worry, Minerva. I’ll be there and I’ll get him through.”


************************************


Thanks to the potion - which certainly hadn’t been a “light one” - Minerva had slept like a stone and without nightmares. Upon waking, her first thought was “Albus” and only the realization that Poppy certainly wouldn’t like Minerva storming the infirmary in her nightgown kept her from running where her heart ordered her to go. But she showered and dressed in record time. Leaving her chambers, she immediately changed into her cat form because as a tabby she could run through the castle at high speed without causing a panic among the inhabitants. Breathing hard, she arrived at the hospital wing. Changing back, the first thing she noticed was that the entrance door had moved. Usually it was directly next to the stairs, leading to Poppy’s office and from there to the emergency room, the hall for ill students, and the teacher’s room. But now the door had moved further away from the stairs, and as Minerva stepped through it she found herself in the emergency room where a young mediwizard in the green St. Mungo’s robe was just inspecting the throat of a second year Hufflepuff.

Minerva felt as if a cold hand was squeezing her heart. “Where’s Madame Pomfrey?” she asked.

“In her office,” the young man answered. “But if you need treatment, you’ll have to deal with me.”

“I don’t need treatment,” Minerva said crisply, already marching to the door in the back of the room. “I’m the Deputy Headmistress of this school.” She knocked at the door of Poppy’s office.

“Come in!” sounded a male voice from the inside.

The sight which greeted Minerva as she stepped over the threshold would have made her laugh if she hadn’t been so worried. The three inhabitants of the room looked like the losers of a boxing match. Poppy, her cap down and her hair falling limply over her shoulders, white dress crumpled and her shoes lying in front of her on the floor, was draped upon a chair in front of the fireplace like a wet sock. In a chair next to her snored Alastor, his wooden leg stretched out, his mouth half open. The third person in the room, a bald-headed healer in green with the St. Mungo’s crest on his chest, sat bent forward, holding his coffee cup with both hands as if it would keep him from falling asleep on the spot.

“Poppy!” cried Minerva. “What happened? How’s Albus?”

Poppy slowly raised her head. “Albus is going to be fine. He’s asleep,” she answered. “But he provided us with a lot of entertainment last night.”

“What happened?” Minerva asked again.

This time it was the healer who responded, “Your Headmaster showed us why people call him the most powerful wizard alive. Without Mister Moody’s help he would probably have blown up half the castle.”

“What? How?” Minerva was terrified. “Poppy!” she cried.

The mediwitch closed her eyes and yawned. Then she said, “I told you that I expected the fever to increase. It did - so much so that Albus started to hallucinate. He thought the ceiling would come down on us, he saw the walls crumbling and felt threatened by monsters. He fought against them …” She yawned again.

Alastor had awakened and took over. “You may call me ‘Mad Eye the master wrestler’ now, Minerva. I’ve always wanted to jump on Albus – last night I got the chance.”

“We couldn’t use magic on him,” the healer explained. “His magic had become uncontrollable. Ours would have collided with his, injuring him or us.”

“So Alastor jumped on him,” Poppy proceeded. “He held Albus’ hands until we could tie him down.”

“You make it sound so easy, Poppy!” Alastor complained. “I didn’t find it funny that he blew me against the wall twice before I got him. Boy, oh boy - Albus owes me! It will cost him at least two bottles of Old Odgen’s before I forgive him for where he directed his second stunner! I thought I’d be singing soprano in a boy’s choir for the rest of my life!”

Minerva wasn’t interested in Alastor’s suffering - at least not at the moment. “Did you get Albus’ fever down, Poppy?” she asked.

Poppy nodded with a shudder. “Yes - with the brute force method. We packed him in ice. It got the fever down - at least so that he stopped hallucinating. Then we were able to cast cooling charms on him, give him a potion to strengthen his heart, and put him into a magical sleep. He’ll need at least 24 hours of absolute rest to recuperate from last night.”

“He isn’t the only one,” Alastor yawned and got up with a sigh. “I’ll toddle off to bed.” He stretched his hand out to Poppy. “And you’ll accompany me, lass. You look like death twice warmed over and despite all the affection I have for Albus - next time he pulls a stunt like that I’ll hex him into the middle of the lake and ask the giant squid to hold him until he’s cooled off.”

Poppy had taken Alastor’s hand and risen too. Smiling at Minerva she said, “And yes, you may see Albus. But be careful around him. There’s a charm over his room, flooding it with oxygen to make it easier for him to breathe. But you could get dizzy with that stuff.”

“Thank you, Poppy. Now go to bed. You must be terribly tired,” Minerva said, back in her deputy mode. Looking at the healer, she smiled, “Thank you for coming to Hogwarts.”

He smiled back tiredly. “I would like to say it was my pleasure, but it was a touch too exhausting to be a pleasure. So let’s say I’ve simply done my duty.”

“I hope you’ll find time to rest now,” Minerva answered and marched - now a bit impatiently - out of the office and to the room she knew Albus was in.

He lay on his side, the blanket rumpled and down to his belly, but his face was peaceful and relaxed. Minerva smiled at him. Sleeping, he always reminded her of the boy he’d once been. He looked vulnerable and more open than he was when he was awake. Bending down, Minerva tenderly stroked a strand of white hair out of his face, then she kissed his forehead. It was still warm, but not burning anymore. Minerva was sure he would make it. He was strong, and he would come back to her and then she wouldn’t let him go. She wouldn’t care about his declarations any longer, but would take his actions for what counted. And she would look after him from now on.


To be continued …