The Comedy of Errors

The Comedy of Errors

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

Chapter 8: Rogue Male


“Tock”. Alastor Moody, sitting in a chair at the fireplace in Albus Dumbledore’s living room, had lifted his wooden leg, stretched it and put the claw at its end down on the floor again. Now he was crooking his knee. The claw scratched over the floor. Alastor lifted it again, stretched and set it down again. “Tock.” Once again the claw had hit the floor.

Albus, who sat opposite the old auror, brooding over a chess board, furrowed his brow. Looking over the rims of his spectacles he asked, “Must you do these exercises, Alastor?”

Alastor Moody moved his leg once again, the claw scraping over the wooden floor. “I thought you were in a trance,” he responded, leaning back.

“I’m not in trance,” Albus declared. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Alastor studied the chess board for a moment. “There’s no need to brood for hours, Albus. You’ve already lost. Why don’t you admit it?”

For an answer Albus only snorted, raised his hand and let it hover over his queen. The artfully carved figure didn’t seem to like it. She looked up at him and with an amazingly deep voice she said, “He’s right, you know? You’ve lost us again!” Albus grumbled and tapped against the queen’s head. The figure fell on the board and the white king, which stood opposite her, raised his sword in a triumphant gesture.

Albus stood up. Walking over to the cabinet he said, “I always lose with the black set.”

Alastor’s leg scraped over the floor once again as he bent forward, pulling his wand out. “You’ve lost with white too,” he reminded his friend while he ordered the chess pieces back in their box with a wave of his wand.

“Hey! I want a rematch!” Albus protested. He’d opened the cabinet, taken two glasses out and sent them flying over to the table.

“What for?” Alastor shrunk the chess board, put it on the box and closed the lid. “Losing again won’t brighten your mood.”

“And how do you know I’d lose again?” Albus took a bottle out of the cabinet and walked back to the table.

“It’s easy to foresee.” Alastor raised one of the glasses for Albus to fill it. “You’re lacking in concentration, you’re distracted, and obviously you’ve run out of luck with the ladies. Besides,” his natural eye twinkled, amused as he watched Albus pour a deep red, smoking liquid into the glasses, “you could be a bit more generous with your old Odgen’s. I was the one who won twice. I think I deserve a double.”

“Do you intend to get drunk?” Albus asked, pouring more fire whiskey in his friend’s glass.

“In contrast to you, I can hold this stuff tolerably well,” Alastor promptly shot back.

Albus sat down in his chair, filling his own glass. “But in contrast to me you’re the one who will sleep on the sofa if you come home drunk.”

Alastor let the liquid whirl in the glass, sniffing at the smoke which came up from it. “After the last week I’m used to it. I’ve spent three nights on the sofa.”

“Poppy kicked you out?” Albus sipped at his firewhiskey. “What kind of crime did you commit? Not listening enough? Wanting sex when she only wanted a cuddle? Throwing socks in the middle of the bedroom? Or did you dare to relieve yourself standing, showing you’re an incorrigible male chauvinistic pig?” He sounded sarcastic and bitter.

For a moment Alastor Moody examined Albus with his magical eye. Then he said firmly, “I was kicked out of our bed because I was stupid enough to defend you. Clearly stated, you’re certainly not Poppy’s favourite person at the moment. And the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that she’s right. You’re behaving like a perfect bastard. I don’t know what’s worse, the way you’ve let Minerva down or the ‘Lucky me - I’m finally free’ attitude you’ve been exhibiting since then.”

Albus put his glass down on the table with a clunk. His blue eyes were flashing angrily and he wanted to rebuke his old friend but, looking at him, he closed his mouth and swallowed the angry reply. Instead he rose and walked over to the perch where Fawkes sat, looking gloomy. Petting the phoenix’s neck, Albus said quietly, “Last night I was reading Petronius. Do you know what he called the condition in which one isn’t able to think quickly and subtly? Pinguis Minerva - fat Minerva.”

“My Latin was never as good as yours,” Alastor replied. “Would you perhaps care to explain?”

Albus sighed. “Minerva was the Goddess of wisdom and so her name was often used as a synonym for the mind. And a fat mind, so the Romans believed, wouldn’t be able to work well.”

“Ah.” Alastor leaned back, his claw once again scraping over the floor. “And you are in a state of ‘Pinguis Minerva’?”

Albus came back to the table and took his glass. “My actual state of mind could be named ‘stupor Minerva’,” he said. “Pinguis Minerva was the state I was in when I started this.”

“Hmm.” Alastor didn’t sound too convinced. Looking up at Albus, who was leaning on the mantelpiece, he asked, “What happened, Albus? I mean, even you wouldn’t start an affair with your deputy just because you can.”

“Even I?” Albus repeated ironically. “Your trust in me is overwhelming.”

Alastor rolled his natural eye. “Albus! Being touchy doesn’t become you. You can’t deny that you have quite a reputation as a womanizer. But seducing Minerva! That really wasn’t your best idea.”

“I know, Alastor.” Albus hung his head, and for a few seconds he was silent. Then he said quietly: “I hate what’s become of it. I’ve not only lost, but hurt my best friend. Nevertheless, I can’t bring myself to regret what happened.” He sat down and emptied his glass with one gulp.

Alastor only played with his, watching how the light from the fire was reflected in the liquid. “Not out of curiosity, Albus, but because I worry - what happened?”

“You don’t know?”

“How should I?” Alastor shook his head. “You know Minerva. She would rather swallow her tongue than speak poorly of you. If Poppy hadn’t found her crying, she probably wouldn’t have uttered a single word. Even so it must have been like pulling teeth. Minerva admitted that she became close to you during your time in Cornwall. And she said that she needs distance from you because she feels more for you than you’re willing and able to take. That was all Poppy could get out of her.”

Albus’ fingers trembled as he filled his glass again. Gripping it so firmly that his knuckles became white, he emptied it, shivering as the sharp alcohol ran down his throat. Slowly he said, “How can I explain what I don’t really understand myself? You know I’ve always had a weak spot for her. She’s all that you can wish for in a woman - beautiful, passionate, intelligent, brave, witty. And in Cornwall - having her around all day, for once not wearing her usual robes and the ghastly bun …” For a second something like a smile lit his face. “You can’t imagine how enchanting she is with her hair down and smiling. She got to me like champagne. I wanted her so badly it was really hard not to jump on her.”

“You didn’t?” Alastor Moody sounded ironic.

“Of course I didn’t! What do you think of me?” Albus sounded offended. “I won’t deny my history with women, but I can assure you, I nevertheless know how to behave around a woman.”

“Sorry, Albus. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything,” Alastor said. “And I figure you wouldn’t like to tell the details. Yet …,” he hesitated, breathed deeply and smiled awkwardly, “Albus, did you …” He blushed and stammered. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Albus smiled wearily. “I do. And the answer is yes, Alastor. The reason for the trouble is that we became very close to each other.”

Alastor sipped at his drink. “My, my. You must be good! You slept with her and she couldn’t help herself and fell in love with you.”

“I don’t think it’s got anything to do with my qualities as a lover,” Albus said. Standing up again and pacing through the room, he proceeded, “It’s the way she is. She probably already had a crush on me when she came to Cornwall. Only she didn’t know it then.”

“I actually think Minerva is someone who knows herself rather well,” Alastor disagreed. “But it doesn’t matter much when she fell in love with you, Albus. What matters is how you intend to deal with it now. You can’t go on like you have for the last few days.”

Albus had arrived at the window and was looking out in the rainy night. “Minerva said she needs distance. She even went so far as to ask for some time off. I couldn’t grant her that - not at term’s start. Yet I’m trying to give her as much space as possible.”

“By giving Minerva - as you call it - as much space as possible, you’re producing rumours, Albus,” Alastor explained. “You haven’t shown yourself at a meal in the last three days. The students are already talking. Twice yesterday Poppy was asked if you’re sick. And when Poppy is asked, you can be sure that Minerva has to answer questions too. Do you think she likes that?”

Albus laid both hands on the window. “Well - what do you think I should do? Appearing at meals, sitting next to Minerva as if nothing has happened?” Turning around, he breathed deeply. “Breakfast with Minerva - sounds like a real nice occasion.” Ironically he proceeded, “Oh, Minerva, I know you’d like to poison me, but could you nevertheless pass me the coffee? And no, I don’t want the hot coffee in my lap, as tempting as this may look to you.”

“Albus!” Alastor stamped down with his claw. “She doesn’t hate you!”

“I would understand if she did,” Albus said. “She’s a proud woman.” He sat down again and filled his glass. Sipping at it, he said, “I’m an idiot, Alastor. The other night I dreamed about Minerva. She was with me again, smiling at me as she did in Cornwall. And then I waked up and felt lonely. I missed her so much I had to fight with myself not to run down to her chambers. She is so wonderful and probably …” he fell silent for a few seconds, watching the fire. Then he whispered, “I really would have liked to be with her.”

Alastor scratched behind his ear. Slowly shaking his head, he said, “You don’t expect me to understand you, Albus, do you? You say you miss her. You say you would have liked to keep her. So what’re we talking about here? Why are you hanging around here, getting yourself pissed, fuelling a depression, and looking as if a troll spit on your lemon drops? Why aren’t you with Minerva?”

“Because she’s in love with me,” Albus answered sadly.

Once again the old auror shook his head. “Poppy said, ‘You talk with him. You’re a Slytherin too, so you should be able to understand him.’ She obviously overestimated me. I’d probably understand Snape better than you.”

“What’s your problem?” Albus emptied his glass and immediately filled it again. “I find myself rather logical.”

“Logical? You? In this?” Alastor looked at Albus as if he doubted his sanity. “Let’s try to sort this out - slowly and so an old auror can follow: You would like to be with Minerva, but you think you can’t because she’s in love with you? Sorry, but that’s a logic I can’t understand. People usually become involved because they are in love.”

“But that’s the point, Alastor!” Albus cried. “They are in love! Take Poppy and you for example. You love her. She loves you. So you became a couple. But in our case it’s only Minerva who’s in love.”

“And you don’t love her?” Alastor asked.

“Yes,” Albus nodded. “I’m fond of her, I care very much for her, but I don’t love her. But even if I were able to fall in love - I couldn’t be with Minerva. Her expectations of a relationship and mine are too different. She wants commitment, consequently - you know Minerva is a very strict woman! For her it’s always ‘all or nothing’ - marriage.”

Now Alastor emptied his glass. He looked almost smug as he said, “You’re wrong, Albus. Poppy is an ‘all or nothing’ type too. Nevertheless she isn’t - at least not at the moment - keen on marriage. She says she learned to like her freedom during the time she was unattached. And she loves her work at Hogwarts, therefore she doesn’t want to marry.”

“She could marry you and stay at Hogwarts,” Albus gave back.

Alastor shook his head. “The point is that she loves her independence - and in this, I think, she’s pretty much like Minerva. Besides,” he offered Albus his glass for a refill, “there’s one important point you should think about.” Raising the full glass Albus had just given him, he grinned slyly. “When in trouble, always ask Uncle Ugly. In this case, prepare to listen to a rather lengthy speech, Albus.”

Albus laughed. “What have I done to deserve that?”

“You’ve given me enough firewhiskey to overcome my natural shyness.” Alastor sipped at his glass. “Seriously, Albus, I understand that you’ve developed a trauma about commitment and responsibility for other people. You shouldered a great deal of responsibility during two wars and knowing you as long as I have, I’m aware that you never take it easy. You’ve always known that your decisions had great influence over a lot of people, that often enough they meant life or death. I would never have wanted to be in your shoes and therefore I really understand that you feel uncomfortable when someone wants to put a new responsibility on you.”

Albus smiled at him. “You’re not too bad a psychologist, Uncle Alastor.”

“Poppy rubs off on me. Besides, I was an auror if I may remind you, Albus. And you should know one can’t do that job without developing some feeling for human beings. But I wasn’t finished with my speech.”

“Oh?” Albus raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“You’d better - it’s important.” Alastor breathed deeply. “I want you to think about the fact that a relationship isn’t the responsibility of one of the participants only, but always of both parties involved. And with intelligent and experienced women like Poppy and Minerva you can be sure that they take their share - and probably even more because women are, for the most part, better at dealing with emotions than we are. In my case, Albus, Poppy didn’t complicate my life. On the contrary, she makes it easier. And Minerva …” He let his line hang and looked at Albus.

He nodded slowly. “I’m sure she would help me in a lot of things. Even without being my lover she was always very loyal and supportive.” Crossing his long legs at the ankles, he took his spectacles off. “You’re right in supposing that responsibility makes me feel uncomfortable. I know myself. I’m certainly not bad when it comes to taking over responsibility for a group - like the Hogwarts staff, the students or the Order. But as soon as I’m involved with an individual, as soon as someone expects me to get close, I fail. And the list of people who suffered or even died because of my failures is long. Octavia, Severus, James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Harry Potter, my brother …”

Alastor raised a hand to stop Albus. “Moment! I know some people think you omniscient, but I didn’t know you that believe yourself omnipotent, Albus. I understand that you feel guilty about your wife’s death. But the problems in your marriage weren’t caused by you alone. She failed you too, Albus. And when we come to the next person on your list …”

Now it was Albus who interrupted. “I know you don’t like Severus. But you must admit that we couldn’t have defeated Voldemort without him.”

“I’m even willing to admit that he’s a brave man,” Alastor grumbled. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he was already rotten at the core when he came to Hogwarts. You know he grew up with a father who used ‘Imperio’ to ask his wife to pass him the sugar at breakfast! The Snapes have been a nasty lot for generations, and I’ve always seen this last Snape as something you can be rather proud of. You got him back on the side of the light! Without you he’d have been a candidate for the dementor’s kiss, Albus.”

“I don’t think so,” Albus disagreed. “At the core Severus was always an honourable man.”

“Pfff!” Alastor snorted. “Albus, you’re a dreamer! The only decent thing about Snape is his loyalty to you. He only acts honourably because he doesn’t want to disappoint you. But whatever his motives are - he certainly doesn’t belong on your list. And what the Potters are doing there is also beyond me.”

“They died because they didn’t trust me enough,” Albus said quietly. “I offered to become their secret keeper, but they decided on Pettigrew, who betrayed them.”

“Albus!” Alastor shook his head. “They didn’t want you because you already had such a lot on your plate.”

“It cost them their lives and Harry the chance for a happy childhood,” Albus gave back sadly. “And Harry - I shouldn’t have placed him with his aunt.”

“And how should you have known that his relatives would treat him like dirt?” Alastor asked. “If memory doesn’t fail me we were in the middle of a war. We weren’t sure if Voldemort would really be gone; we didn’t know if and when his Death Eaters would attack next time, and you didn’t have much more than a few minutes to decide what do with the baby. I thought your idea of protecting him with blood magic was rather brilliant.”

“Harry doesn’t think so,” Albus said.

“Harry should finally grow up!” Alastor snorted. “He didn’t have a happy childhood, but he survived. And that was more than he could expect under the circumstances. So to the next on your list, Sirius Black. What do you think was your failure with him? Except for saving him from the dementor’s kiss, I mean?”

“And what did he get from that?” Albus looked down at his hands in his lap. “I should have known that he’d run mad, imprisoned in a house he had always loathed. I should have looked after him better.”

“Of course!” Alastor commented ironically, stamping his wooden leg on the floor. “And besides, you forgot my birthday in the last year of the war! I cried in my pillow all night because you didn’t send me a card! What do you think you were doing? You weren’t hired as the Order’s nanny, but as its leader!”

“Alastor, you know as well as I do that you actually do belong on the list of people I disappointed,” Albus said gravely. “I call myself your friend and you’ve saved my life twice. Nevertheless I needed almost a year before I noticed that I wasn’t with you, but with an impostor.”

“He was good,” Alastor sounded dry. “You have to admit Albus, his idea of shagging Jeanette Streepletid was a stroke of genius. With that single act he got the two people out of his - or better said, my - hair that were most dangerous to him. He’d asked me under veritaserum who was closest to me. I’d just fallen in love with Poppy, so I named her and you. Alas, starting an affair with the lady you’d just left was a terrific way to drive not only Poppy away, but you too …”

Albus sipped at his glass. “The moment Poppy told me that you were courting her before you started that affair, I should have become suspicious.”

Alastor shook his head. “Why, Albus? It wasn’t first time we liked the same woman.”

“You were always the reliable one with women,” Albus answered. “It simply isn’t your style to court a woman like Poppy and to flirt with another one only a few days later.”

Alastor sighed. “Albus, don’t you think you’re demanding too much from yourself? At the time this happened you had not only a school to lead, but to deal with the Triwizard tournament and the Order and a Minister who – to be perfectly frank - would have lost his silly arse if you hadn’t carried it after him all the time. You couldn’t have stretched yourself any thinner, Albus!” He bent forward and laid his gnarled hand on Albus’ arm. “Old friend - have mercy on yourself! You’re a brilliant leader and a powerful sorcerer, you’re the role model for two generations of wizards, but you are a human being too. No one - except you - expects you to be infallible, no one expects you to foresee everything and to solve every problem single-handed.” He pulled his hand back, looking awkward.

Albus watched the flames in the fireplace. After a while he cleared his throat. “Thank you, Alastor. You’re a wonderful friend.”

“I’d say I’m a rather pissed one now.” Alastor emptied his glass. “And considering you have had even more than I, we should probably go to bed now. I bet you’re going to have a severe hangover tomorrow.”

“You could be right,” Albus smiled, put his spectacles down and laid them on the table. “And I’ll have a hard day. I’m to attend a transfiguration master’s exam in Budapest.”

Alastor rose tiredly. “Let’s call it a night then. I have to teach a course at the Ministry tomorrow. Arthur wants all employees in his stable to be instructed in matters of safety once a year. Tomorrow I’ll have the pleasure with Pemperbroke and his lot.”

“Oh my.” Albus stood up too. Smiling at his old friend he said, “If you need some firewhiskey afterwards, you’ll know where to find me. My stock and I are at your disposal.”

“Thank you for the offer, Albus.” Alastor patted Albus’ shoulder. “If I were in your shoes, mate, I’d think about Minerva again. I believe she’d do you a lot of good.”

Albus nodded and walked with Alastor to the door. “Good night, Alastor - and give Poppy my regards! I’ll try to show myself at breakfast tomorrow.”


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

“Professor McGonagall?” The friendly voice of Delenn March sounded out of the fireplace in Minerva’s study.

Minerva, who was sitting at her desk working through her paperwork, rose, went over to the fireplace and looked down at the green flames, in which the head of Albus’ secretary seemed to hover. “Yes, Delenn - what is it? Have my visitors arrived?”

“Yes, Minerva.” Now that she had the Deputy Headmistress directly in front of her, Delenn March changed from the formal to the more personal address that Minerva had offered her. “Mister Harry Potter and Mister Ronald Weasley have just arrived at the gates.”

“Thank you.” Minerva smiled at the secretary.

“Shall I send you a house elf with tea?”

“That would be nice. And could I connect my fireplace to your office? I’d like to talk with the gentlemen undisturbed,” Minerva announced.

“Of course, Minerva - just switch it through.”

Minerva looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Oh - there’s something else you could do for me, Delenn. Professor Snape is in class at the moment. Could you call him as soon as he’s done? Just tell him the Messieurs Potter and Weasley are with me. I’ll see him as soon as they’re gone.”

“No problem. I’ll call him.” Professional that she was, Delenn March didn’t show any signs of curiosity or wonder. She only asked in a friendly manner, “Anything else I can do for you, Minerva?”

“No, thank you very much.” Minerva stretched to her full length, closed the connection and cast a spell on the fireplace which directed calls coming there through to Delenn’s office. The boys - no, young men, she corrected herself - would need around ten minutes to make their way up to the castle and the stairs to Gryffindor tower if they didn’t meet someone who kept them. That gave her just the time she needed to clear off her desk. While doing so Minerva reflected upon the situation, glad she’d made sure that they wouldn’t run into Severus Snape. Although he’d saved Weasley during the final battle, the antipathy between Potter, Weasley and the potion master hadn’t softened. Whenever they saw each other, they started bickering. And by now Minerva couldn’t blame Severus for it anymore - at least not entirely. Of course, the way he’d treated the Gryffindor boys during their time as his students had been abominable. Even Albus, always fiercely defending his potion master, didn’t dare maintain that Severus had only acted his role as a Death Eater, but admitted that he’d overdone it out of his old grudge against Potter’s father and his best friend Sirius Black, who’d been Harry’s godfather. And although Minerva was now aware that those students of hers had been exceptionally cruel to young Severus - she still found it hard to forgive her colleague for taking his revenge upon the son of his former archenemy.

Yet with the years she’d learned his motives. It hadn’t only been hatred for James Potter and Sirius Black that had made Severus so spiteful towards Harry. The deeper reason behind it had been fear and jealousy. Severus, the unwanted, unloved child had once seen how not only the Potters, but the entire Order had celebrated Harry’s birth. He’d stood by as the members had shown their delight and pride in the baby. Probably hardest for Severus had been the fact that Albus had acted like an overindulgent grandfather around Harry. To the potion master it had probably looked as if young Harry would not only get all the love he’d always craved, but would take from him the attention and love of his surrogate father, Albus. And when Harry had come to Hogwarts, the situation had become even worse. Severus hadn’t known how badly Harry was treated by the relatives he’d grown up with. He’d thought him a spoiled brat who’d always gotten anything he wished for. To watch Harry be even more pampered - so it must have looked to Severus - by Albus had probably been like being tortured on a daily basis.

Minerva would never forget the expression in Severus’ eyes during the staff conference when she’d asked Albus to bend the rule that first years weren’t allowed on the house quidditch teams. Albus’ approval would probably have been enough to hurt Severus already, but it had become even worse. Flying instructor Rolanda Hooch had said, “Minerva, you must tell the boy that he has to get himself a proper broom. Our old school brooms won’t do.”

Before Minerva had gotten a chance to answer, Albus had stepped in. “Minerva, get the boy a Nimbus or whatever is good at the moment.”

“And in which account shall I enter the sum?” Minerva, as deputy always watching over the school’s money, had asked.

“That will be mine - the private one,” Albus had answered.

Severus had paled and his face had looked like a stone mask. His voice had trembled as he’d said, “You can’t do that, Albus. You can’t favour a pupil like that.”

Albus had looked at him. “I can and I will, although I wouldn’t call it ‘favouring’ him.”

It had become the first in a long line of rows and arguments Severus and Albus fought over Harry Potter for the next several years. And although Minerva had mostly been on Harry’s side, she’d nevertheless seen that Severus had suffered.

She remembered a winter night following one of the arguments. Augustus and she had come back from an event in Oxford in the middle of the night. Upon apparating at the Hogwarts gates she’d almost fallen over something that had, in the cold light of the moon, looked like a bundle of dirty, dark fabric. But when her foot touched it, the bundle moaned and, bending down, she recognized the potion master, battered, bleeding and barely alive. “Severus - oh Gods, what happened to you?”

The moment she’d pulled her wand out, two phoenixes had appeared in a flame, the smaller of them immediately changing into human form and screaming, “Don’t use magic on him, Minerva! He was probably tortured with ‘Crucio’ again!” Albus had bent down, taking the injured man in his arms. “I’m here, Severus. I’ve got you, my boy.”

To Minerva’s wonder, she’d met the potion master the next morning as she’d come down for breakfast. He’d moved stiffly and been even paler than normal, but when she’d asked him how he felt, he’d sneered at her.

A few days later she’d been with Severus in Albus’ office when the young man suddenly twitched, gripped his arm and rose. “I have to go.”

Minerva had known what this meant. Voldemort had called his followers by activating the Dark Mark he’d burned into their skin. Terrified she’d cried, “But you can’t go, Severus. What if he tortures you again? You haven’t entirely recuperated from the last time.”

Severus voice hadn’t betrayed any emotion as he’d responded, “Haven’t you gotten it yet, Minerva? Being tortured is what I’m good for.”

“Albus!” She’s turned and looked at Albus. But he hadn’t said a word. He’d only sat there, his eyes infinitely sad, and the tips of his long fingers slightly trembling.


On this morning his fingers had trembled again. He’d appeared at breakfast - the first time in four days, during which time Minerva hadn’t seen him. He’d avoided her since the evening in her chambers, and she hadn’t known if she was glad or angry about it. But mixed feelings were something she was now used to - at least when it came to Albus. To miss him dreadfully and, at the same time, to wish she would never have to deal with him again; to wish their comfortable friendship back yet at the same time knowing that she’d never be at ease with him as she’d been before; longing for his kisses and touches and at the same time fighting against the urge to hex him - she managed to go through the entire program in only a few minutes.

Yet on this morning something new had been added to the mixture. Watching him march through the hall, politely responding to the greetings of the students, Minerva had for a moment felt a boiling rage. How dare he look his usual cheerful self when she was so miserable! How dare he have such an ‘I’m living in the best of all possible worlds’ look, when she felt as if her world had fallen apart!

But then he’d arrived at his chair next to hers and, looking up at him, Minerva had seen the dark shadows under his tired, reddened eyes. And his voice had been even more hoarse than usual when he’d greeted her with a formal, “Good morning, Minerva.”

“Good morning, Albus.” She’d sounded stiff and almost hostile. But when he’d taken the pot to pour tea in his cup, she’d seen his hand trembling and at that moment the rage had been replaced by worry.

But even this worry had made for mixed feelings. Just the other day Minerva had gotten an owl from her sister - nothing important, only the usual banalities. While reading it she’d thought about what Diana would say if she learned about Minerva’s trouble. And as far apart as Minerva and her sister were - Minerva was sure that Diana’s family sense would immediately kick in and she would blame Albus. She’d probably call him the “rascal” who’d “seduced” her poor sister and who’d dumped her the moment she’d wanted more than sex. And in that opinion Diana wouldn’t have been alone. Even Poppy, who actually liked Albus, had been furious after she’d “added up one and one”. She’d fumed, “Now he’s really overdone it! Playing around with your heart! He can be such a bastard!” And if Minerva hadn’t expressly forbidden her friend to go after Albus, she’d probably have hexed him.

Yes, to most people the situation as it was now would make for Albus being blamed and Minerva - as his “victim” - being comforted.

Only Minerva couldn’t see it that way. Although she felt hurt and disappointed, she knew that he wasn’t a reckless Don Juan who didn’t care about the hearts he’d broken. He suffered too, perhaps even more than she. She blamed herself for behaving like one of the romantic teenagers in her care, for behaving unprofessionally and in silly manner. But he probably felt guilty for hurting her, for destroying their friendship and while Minerva, always the optimistic Gryffindor, found comfort in the knowledge that - with time and patience - they would be able to save their friendship; Albus, oversensitive and caught in his guilt complex as he was, probably suffered with the fear that she would never talk to him again, that she would one day give notice and disappear out of his life and Hogwarts.

Watching at him at breakfast, where he’d nibbled without appetite on his dry toast, hardly daring to look at her, Minerva had found herself in a situation she could only describe as bizarre: She’d wanted to comfort him; to take him in her arms like she would have taken a lost child, and to tell him that everything was going to be alright again. Seeing him so depressed and sad had made her heart ache.

She would have to talk to him. But before then she would have to help another depressed, guilt ridden Slytherin. For days Severus had been looking at her as though she held the key to his happiness - and in a way she did. Harry and Ron were the key to it - more than Hermione Granger was aware. Being experienced, and for years used to a Slytherin and his sense of obligation, Minerva knew that Severus probably wouldn’t marry Hermione if this marriage meant that she’d lose her best friends. For him it was incredibly hard to believe in love. To trust in a love which had to pay such a price would probably be impossible. So it would be Minerva’s task to save her young colleague’s future. Who else could do it?

Minerva knew only one other person who would have a chance: Molly Weasley. Ron’s mother, who’d taken to Harry like a son of her own, would probably have been able to convince the boys too. Only she didn’t like Severus and, what was even worse, she knew that her youngest son had once had a crush on Hermione himself, but hadn’t stood a chance with her. She certainly wouldn’t champion Hermione’s love for the potion master.

Piling the papers on her desk neatly, Minerva once again looked over at the clock on the mantelpiece. The boys must have arrived at Gryffindor tower now - and yes, just this moment she heard the knock at the door.

“Come in!” She walked in the direction of the door which was opened. Two young men entered, both wearing the dark blue robes which marked them as aurors.

Minerva remembered the day both had come to Hogwarts. At that time Harry Potter had been a bony boy with round spectacles and unruly black hair, whose big green eyes had always reminded her of a lost puppy. Ron Weasley - red haired, blue eyed and freckled as all Weasleys - had looked rather average then. But now they had become men - Ron tall, broad shouldered and with the smile of one who knew that he was liked by girls; Harry a bit shorter, but well built too, his shoulder length black hair bound back into a ponytail, the famous scar on his forehead so paled it was hard to see anymore. But what had changed most were his eyes. They seemed too old for his still young and vulnerable face, and although his mouth smiled, Minerva could see scepticism and vigilance in his gaze.

Well-mannered, both young men bowed as they stood in front of Minerva. “Good day, Professor McGonagall,” Ron said with his amazingly deep and soft voice.

Harry Potter showed that he was still very much a Gryffindor. He came directly to the point. “You wanted to see us, Professor McGonagall - and here we are.” He sounded slightly challenging.

Minerva pointed to the chairs in front of her fireplace. “Mister Potter, Mister Weasley - thank you for coming. Take a seat. The tea will be here in a moment.”

Harry obviously wasn’t much interested in tea and niceties. “I assume you didn’t order us to Hogwarts for tea?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Minerva had to suppress a smile. Wasn’t it ironic how much the boy was sometimes like the man he saw as his enemy? With the deep wrinkle between his eyebrows and the tight mouth he really looked like Severus now - only the potion master never would have been so direct.

But well - if the young man wanted to be reminded to whom he was talking, Minerva wouldn’t mind giving him what he asked for. Putting on her best stern teacher face, she said crisply, “I wasn’t aware that I could order aurors, Mister Potter. But to relieve you of your main concern, I didn’t ask you here to sort out your trouble with the Headmaster, although I think it’s high time that you apologized to him.”

Harry Potter blushed - and was saved by a house elf who appeared with a tea tray, and his friend Ron smiling brightly, “Fruitcake! The Hogwarts’ fruitcake is the best and I’ve really missed it. Kingsley Shackebolt always teases me about it. Whenever I mention fruitcake he advises me to apply for the job as DADA teacher at Hogwarts. It would get me free fruitcake for a year.”

Minerva laughed and put a big slice of the fruitcake on Ron’s plate. “But you know that the job is rather dangerous?”

Ron grinned. “Your last one became pregnant. I don’t think that could happen to me.”

“And you probably wouldn’t get lost in the Forbidden Forest either - which happened to the candidate two years before. We had to search for him for three days until the Headmaster found him in a tree where he’d fled because he thought he was being chased by a very dangerous, evil looking animal with murderous horns.”

“Horns? What kind of an animal was that?” Harry asked.

Minerva poured tea in the cups. “One of the goats from the herd Professor Dumbledore inherited from his brother,” she answered dryly.

“Oh my - how embarrassing!” Ron laughed. “But becoming the laughing stock of the Wizarding world seems to be one of the risks this job comes with.”

Harry grinned at him. “You should take it. Knowing you, I’d say you’d find a very original way to embarrass yourself.”

Minerva put the cup down she’d just sipped at. “Embarrassing oneself is a good segue to the subject I’d like to talk with you about.” She breathed deeply. “Gentlemen, I want to remind you of the day we fought the last battle against Voldemort. Before we went, we swore to each other that we would stay united whatever happened. I think that all of us were well aware that this promise wasn’t meant only for the battle, but for what would come afterwards too. Now you’re to prove that you meant it, and that you are great enough to overcome old grudges and prejudices - especially when it comes to the future happiness of someone close to you.”

“Whoa!” Ron Weasley shuddered. “That sounds serious indeed.”

Harry only looked at Minerva, his arms still crossed over his chest, his eyes full of suspicion.

Minerva sighed inwardly. Deciding that beating around the bush wouldn’t do any good, she slowly said, “It’s Hermione Granger’s future we’re talking about. She’s found a man she loves and wants to marry, but she’s afraid that she’ll have to choose between this man and her friends.”

Now Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Hermione chose someone we probably won’t approve of?”

“Yes, Mister Potter,” Minerva nodded. “Although I don’t think she actually wants or needs your approval. That would be too much. What she - and I, to be perfectly clear - expects from you is nothing more or less than your acceptance, your respect for her decision, and your friendship.”

“And why should we withdraw our friendship?” Harry asked. “Who is it she wants to marry?”

Minerva looked in his eyes. “Mister Potter, would you first think about what I’ve just said? Before I tell you who Hermione is in love with, I’d like you to answer me one question: Are you willing to respect her choice? Are you willing to accept that she loves someone you don’t approve of?”

“Well, that was two questions,” Ron said in an attempt to loosen up the tense atmosphere. “But as far as I’m concerned, as long as Hermione doesn’t want to marry Snape with me throwing flowers at the wedding …” Seeing Minerva’s serious face, he paled and swallowed. “Holy shit! It’s Snape!”

“Yes, Mister Weasley,” Minerva confirmed. “But I’m sure he doesn’t expect you to throw flowers at the wedding.”

“Snape!” Harry balled his fists, his green eyes glittering dangerously. “You’re telling us that Hermione wants to marry that man? Professor McGonagall - you can’t be serious! You can’t believe that Hermione loves that murderous bastard!”

“Mister Potter!” Minerva raised her voice. “You are talking about a member of the Hogwarts staff. I won’t allow you to insult Professor Snape in front of me!”

The young man was on his feet now, looking down at Minerva. “And what do you intend to do about it, Professor McGonagall? Take house points away? Put me in detention? Shall I write 100 times ‘I shall not call a Slytherin bastard a bastard when that bastard is the pet bastard of a certain Slytherin Headmaster’? I’m not your student anymore, Professor McGonagall!”

Minerva had risen too, and although she wasn’t as tall as Harry Potter, she seemed to tower over him. Her eyes were blazing and her lips were so thin they almost couldn’t be seen anymore. “Sit down, Mister Potter!” She hadn’t yelled, but her voice had become so sharp that Harry fell back in his chair. “You’re right,” Minerva hissed at him. “You aren’t my student anymore. But in contrast to the certain Slytherin Headmaster who always treated you with velvet gloves even if you showed yourself to be an ungrateful, impudent brat, I will not put up with you and your arrogance. If you force me to, I’ll have a talk with your superior. I think Kingsley Shacklebolt and I agree about expecting manners from a young auror - and that means that you’ll learn to keep your big mouth closed! You may be the saviour of our world, but that doesn’t make you its centre. Besides,” she breathed deeply and took one step back, leaning her back against the mantelpiece, “we both know that you couldn’t have become the boy-who-defeated-Voldemort without the Slytherins you like to insult risking their lives and saving yours on more than one occasion!”

She had to take a break to breathe, and Ron Weasley promptly tried to use this as a chance to stop her rant. “You must admit, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape treated us cruelly and unfairly.”

“I won’t deny it,” Minerva answered coolly. “But you know he had to act a role.”

Harry snorted. “He enjoyed it.”

“I was not finished yet, Mister Potter!” Minerva snapped. “I want you to answer me a question again: Are you - the both of you - certain you could have always been fair and nice when being tortured by Voldemort on a regular basis?” She looked at Harry. “Did you never act unfairly or unjustly when you were hurt?”

“Well …” Ron Weasley swallowed. “I know the war was a hard time for Professor Snape. But we’re actually not here to discuss his history, but his future - with our best friend.”

“And I simply can’t believe you think him able to make Hermione happy!” Harry said.

“Hermione loves him and he loves her,” Minerva answered calmly.

Harry shook his head. “I can’t believe it!” he repeated. “Hermione can’t love him. He’s ugly, arrogant, cruel, unfriendly …”

“Ugh!” Ron shuddered. “Just imagine: Kissing Snape! No sane woman can want that.”

“Perhaps he fed her a love potion? I mean, the man’s a potion master,” Harry looked at Minerva.

“Or he’s put her under Imperius?” Ron suggested. “Did you think about that, Professor McGonagall?”

Minerva shook her head. “Gentlemen! Hermione and Professor Snape have been a couple for more than six months now. There isn’t a love potion which could work for so long. And keeping an Imperio up for months isn’t possible either. Besides, why should a man like Professor Snape use an Unforgivable curse and risk a life sentence in Azkaban to seduce a woman? You know he’s one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain. And even if you find him ugly - a lot of women don’t.”

“Seducing?” Ron Weasley gasped at Minerva. “You don’t mean to say Hermione slept with him!”

Minerva sighed. “I haven’t had my hand between them, Mister Weasley. And I really think the private life of your friend and Professor Snape isn’t any business of ours. The subject was if Hermione was or is forced to be with Professor Snape. I’m sure this isn’t the case. Hermione is really and truly in love with him and - I think I’m allowed to tell you - it was she who initiated the relationship.”

“Half a year ago?” Harry Potter shook his head. “She’s been dating Snape for six months and didn’t utter a single word to us? I thought we were friends, and friends share the important things in their lives.”

“Small wonder she didn’t tell you, considering your reaction!” Minerva said crisply.

“And you really think she’ll marry him?” Ron asked.

Minerva folded her robe over her knees. “Yes, they both want to marry.” Feeling that the young men had calmed a bit, she offered Ron another slice of the cake and Harry the tin with her favourite Ginger Newts. “Here - take a Ginger Newt. You’ve always liked them, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall. Thank you.” Harry took a Ginger Newt and started to nibble at it. “I still can’t believe it. I mean, Hermione was always rather a weirdo with all her books and learning and all that stuff. But Snape! How does she stand him?”

“Well,” Ron Weasley sounded a bit muffled because he had his mouth full of fruit cake. “Snape isn’t stupid. They probably talk about potions and academic stuff all the time. Hermione certainly would like that.”

“I think they have quite a lot in common.” Minerva filled her cup again and leaned back, feeling very relieved. The worst was behind her, and the young men had obviously already started to accept the relationship between their friend and the potion master.

Harry, still chewing on his Ginger Newt, said thoughtfully, “She’s to become a transfiguration mistress - and potion masters don’t like silly wand waving!”

Minerva laughed. “Mister Potter, that doesn’t go for all potion masters! Professor Dumbledore has got a master-ship in potions and transfiguration. And although Professor Snape isn’t talented in transfiguration, I don’t think this is a problem between him and Miss Granger.”

“So you really believe they’ll live happily ever after?” Ron had swallowed his cake and looked at Minerva as if she knew all about the future.

“I hope, Mister Weasley,” Minerva answered honestly. “One never knows beforehand how a marriage will turn out, because it takes more than being in love to build a harmonious relationship. But I think they both have what could make their marriage a success - respect for each other, common interests, and the will to fight it through together.”

“But he’s so much older than Hermione!” Harry said.

Minerva sipped at her tea. “I was only two years older than Hermione Granger when I married a man who was 70 years my senior.”

“And you were happy with him?” Ron asked.

“Very much, Mister Weasley. My husband and I had our troubles too - like every couple. But I’ve never for a single moment regretted that I married him.”

Ron swallowed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No problem, Mister Weasley,” Minerva smiled at him.

Now Harry cleared his throat, pointing with his chin to the clock on the mantelpiece. “I don’t want to be impolite, Professor McGonagall, but we’re in for night duty at the Ministry this week.”

“Of course. I don’t want to keep you.” Minerva rose. Looking at her former students, she said, “Hermione knows you were here today.”

She didn’t need to say more. Ron Weasley promptly looked at Harry Potter. Harry studied the tips of his black boots for a moment, then he swallowed and directed his gaze at Minerva. “I won’t pretend I’m happy about that. And I certainly won’t start to see Sna ….,” he immediately corrected himself, “Professor Snape as someone I would ever want to become friends with. But Hermione is my friend and I’ll remain her friend even if she does marry him.”

Ron nodded. “Admittedly, there’s one point I want to make clear. I suppose you’ll speak with Professor Snape too. You can tell him that I respect Hermione’s choice. But if he ever disappoints or hurts her, Harry and I will be after him, and we certainly won’t invite him for a drink then.”

“I think Professor Snape knows that already,” Minerva said, leading them both to the door. Smiling at them, she said, “Mister Potter, Mister Weasley - I’m proud of you.”

Ron Weasley blushed. “Thank you, Professor McGonagall. And have a nice evening!”

Minerva offered him her hand. “The same to you, Mister Weasley. And give your parents my regards, will you?”

“Of course, Professor McGonagall.” Ron marched out of the door.

Now Harry was looking at Minerva. Lowering his head he said, “I know you’re neither proud of nor very happy with me. Hermione keeps telling me that I should finally try to sort out my problem with Professor Dumbledore. And I’d actually like to, but - it’s difficult, you know?”

“What’s so difficult about it, Mister Potter?” Minerva asked softly.

The young man blushed. “I’m aware that I …,” he searched for words. “I mean, I behaved badly towards him and I was unfair and ungrateful and I’ve probably hurt him and I should apologize, but …,” once again he hesitated, looking awkward and uncomfortable. “There are still some things he did about which I feel unhappy. I don’t want to dig around in old attics, but …”

“… it’s not easy to forget,” Minerva helped him out. Laying her hand on his arm she added quietly, “That’s the reason you should talk with the Headmaster, Harry. He cares for you. He always did. And he knows that he’s made mistakes concerning you. It pains him to be at odds with you.”

From the stairs Ron called, “Harry, are you coming?”

“Yes, I’m on my way,” Harry called back, smiling shyly at Minerva. “I must go, Professor McGonagall. But I think I’ll send an owl to Professor Dumbledore soon. Perhaps we can have a talk.” He turned and, waving at Minerva, ran down the stairs. “Bye, Professor McGonagall!”

Minerva breathed deeply and went back to her study, closing the door behind her. Walking over to her desk, she took the picture of her husband in her hands and looked at it. “Aye, Augustus,” she sighed. “I’m obviously becoming Aunt Minerva who solves everyone’s problems - except her own. Therefore I’ll go down to the dungeons now to release our dear potion master from his imprisonment and tension.” Putting the picture back on her desk, she looked almost longingly at the papers there. She would have enjoyed working on them in peace, but first she had to talk to Albus’ secretary and then she would have to go down to Severus.

Marching over to the fireplace once gain, she threw a handful of floo powder into the flames and called for Delenn March.

“Yes, Professor McGonagall?” Once again she got a friendly smile. “Done with your visitors?”

“Yes,” Minerva nodded. “But now I’ll have to go down to the dungeons to see Professor Snape. Did anything happen while I was busy?”

The secretary sighed. “Unfortunately yes, Minerva. Madame Parkinson has floo called again - and she was pretty upset. She insisted on speaking to the Headmaster. When I told her he would probably be back rather late, she wanted to see you - urgently.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, her oh-so-brilliant daughter who really should be a prefect if not Head Girl was once again treated unfairly and cruelly by her Head of House?”

“No. This time it wasn’t Professor Snape, but Professor Vector. According to Madame Parkinson, he doesn’t like her daughter and therefore he graded her last test badly. Now Miss Parkinson is depressed, and in such a state that she can’t be expected to do as well as she could in her OWLs.”

Minerva shook her head. “Parkinson - that’s just a synonym for trouble! Patty Parkinson is the third one of this family we’ve had to deal with, and I fervently hope Madame Parkinson doesn’t have another child. Three years from now, when we’re done with the last Parkinson, Professor Snape and I can have a party to celebrate. And with any luck these girls won’t start families of their own too soon. We’ll need at least 25 years to recuperate!”

“It’s good that not all parents are like Madame Parkinson,” Delenn said sympathetically.

“If they were, I would have quit my job after the first year!” Minerva answered. Sighing she proceeded, “But whining about it won’t help. I’m going down to the dungeons now. Afterwards I’ll see Professor Vector about this test - although I’m pretty sure that there’s nothing wrong with his grading. And then I’ll talk to Madame Parkinson.”

“If I can help you with something?” offered the secretary. “That all sounds rather tiresome.”

“Just call it a ‘normal day in the life of Minerva McGonagall’,” Minerva sighed. “And don’t you work too long. You’re not to spend every night in your office, you know? It’s enough that I will be spending all evening at my desk.”

To be continued …