Chez Albus
Minerva reached for a bath sponge, remembering the evening in her fifth year that she had seen Albus Dumbledore as more than the seemingly omnipotent grown-up he had been to her. Dipping the sponge into the water, then squeezing it and watching the water stream back into the bath, she recalled the details.
It was late on a Sunday, not many weeks after he had created the password to his classroom for her. She had retreated to the classroom after realising that she wouldn’t get any work done in Gryffindor Tower and, not wanting to bother Madam Perlecta to keep the library open later than usual on a Sunday, had decided to lug her books down to the Transfiguration classroom to study. She was also a little bit worried about Professor Dumbledore, though she could not share that fear with anyone since she didn’t know who else her professor had trusted with the nature of his work for the Ministry.
Minerva’s view of Professor Dumbledore had been shifting gradually since that night in the kitchen. Her initial fears for his safety when she’d seen him in that Muggle uniform had subsided, only to be replaced by new ones. Always the diligent student, Minerva had studied the various wizarding wars discussed in the History of Magic class, but, as her interest had always tended to the practical application of magic in Charms and Transfiguration, she had not read beyond what was required by Professor Binns. Frankly, she had always found her history class boring – just the recitation of dates, places, and peculiar names; it was nothing like she had expected from her childhood conversations with her father. Her father’s own interests, of course, were not martial, and the stories he had always told her were of witches and wizards who had found amazing new solutions to previously intractable problems or who had done incredibly stupid and dangerous things in search of such solutions.
Now, however, Minerva suddenly became intensely interested in wizarding wars. She read all she could, including several first-hand accounts by wizards who had fought in major battles and lived to tell about it. Minerva knew that the war with Grindelwald was unlike the Goblin Rebellions of the seventeenth century, as there were no battlefields with armies, even small ones, arrayed on either side. In that respect, the current war resembled more the small skirmishes that had arisen at the same time as the Muggle Hundred Years War. Wizarding factions had allied themselves with Muggle factions, or simply manipulated them to their own advantage, and engaged in small, but exceedingly nasty, skirmishes.
On the other hand, the current conflict with Grindelwald was completely different from any the wizarding world had encountered in many hundreds of years because there was a single, powerful wizard gathering forces to himself with the aim of subjugating the entire wizarding world, rather than the multiple power-hungry wizards who had fought amongst themselves for priority during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. It had been fairly easy for the general wizarding populace in those days to ignore what in retrospect seemed like petty internecine rivalries. In much earlier times, prior to the eleventh century, the rise of a power-hungry wizard would also lead to revolt and conflict, but Minerva could learn little of any battles. Such megalomaniacs appeared to be dealt with on a more personal level, with duels to the death (the challenger usually dying bravely and later celebrated in song) or by poisoning – to greater or lesser degrees of success. Reports of wizarding conflicts from before the ninth or tenth centuries were so confused with Muggle wars and obscured by the legends that had sprung up around them, even in the wizarding versions of the stories, that Minerva could glean nothing useful from them.
Despite the fact that Minerva found no exact parallels between the war with Grindelwald and any previous conflicts of the last thousand years, she read with grim fascination and horror all of the descriptions of wizard battles that she could find in the dusty old tomes of the Hogwarts library. The battles she read of ranged from duels between two wizards to large battles with many wizards and witches fighting on each side. Despite the nightmares that began to plague her sleep, she felt driven to discover what terrors faced a wizard in battle. Visions of decapitation, disembowelment, and bodies writhing in pain as their internal fluids boiled, haunted her nights. Finally, being an essentially practical child, Minerva gave up her quest to learn more of such dreadful conflicts and the damage that curses could wreck on the human body. She did need to sleep without constant nightmares, after all.
She turned her attention, instead, to reading the Daily Prophet every morning at breakfast, shutting out the cacophony around her. No one seemed to notice that she had exchanged her class notes for the newspaper, and no one questioned her choice of reading material. She discovered from Madam Perlecta that the Hogwarts library subscribed to the London Times, although it arrived a day late. Apparently it was a rather recent subscription, and generally, Madam Perlecta informed Minerva, only a few of the faculty ever looked at it. Minerva was welcome to read it as long as she didn’t remove it from the library.
The coverage in the Times both enthralled and repelled Minerva. It was with morbid fascination that she read of bombs, fighter aeroplanes, and death. She wondered if the wizarding world was really aware of what the Muggle world was going through, but supposed it must be different in London since it would be difficult to ignore the effects of the Blitz on the large city around them. The siblings of some of her Muggle-born classmates had been moved to the north of England that autumn in order to escape the falling German bombs.
So although Minerva tried to study, sitting there in the dimly lit Transfiguration classroom that spring evening, she thought more of the teacher who usually taught there than of her upcoming OWLs. She was about to give up for the night when she heard a movement outside the door. Instinctively, she felt for her wand. When the door opened, however, outlined by the stronger lights behind him stood Professor Dumbledore.
Minerva could still remember how her breath caught in her throat as she saw her professor sway wearily before he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Ah, Minerva! I had not expected to see you here this evening.” Albus’s voice sounded strong, but Minerva could see that he was still leaning heavily on the door handle, and he had let his bag drop to the floor with a thump.
“Professor! Are you all right?” Minerva stood, unsure of whether to hurry to his side or to remain where she was.
“I’m fine, my dear. Merely tired and a little worse for wear.” Dumbledore bent and retrieved his bag, then straightened and walked towards her, coming into the light shed by her single candle.
Minerva thought she’d never seen anyone she knew look so awful without being ill. “Professor, what are you doing here? You should be in bed – or in the infirmary!” Her alarm at his appearance overcame her natural reticence to tell an adult what he should do.
“As this is my classroom, and my office is beyond it, it should not be a surprise that I am here. As to why, I believe that I have forty essays to read before tomorrow, as I promised them to the second-year class last week.” Albus ignored Minerva’s suggestion that he should be in bed.
Minerva went to his desk and pulled his chair out for him. Albus gave her a little smile. “Thank you, Miss McGonagall. I do believe we need more light, however.” He waved a hand, and the sconces closest to them lit up.
“I’m sorry, Professor, but you look awful. I know it’s not polite to say it, but you do. Are you hurt anywhere?” Minerva was determined that, if he were, she would fetch the matron, regardless of her professor’s instructions.
“No, my dear. Well, I did catch a spell or two – now don’t fret, child – but they were glancing blows, nothing to signify. I am only a little tired. I shall be fine once I have some dinner.”
Minerva called the house-elf whom she had seen bring Dumbledore dinner on other occasions. “Wilspy!”
She only wondered for a second when the house-elf actually responded to her call – she had thought she’d have to call several times since she was a student, and house-elves rarely answered to students.
“Yes, Miss Minerva? Can Wilspy serve?”
Without thinking, Minerva said, businesslike, “Yes, please bring the professor some dinner. He will have vegetable soup, roast beef, creamed spinach, mashed potatoes with gravy, and pumpkin juice; for dessert, you will bring him hot peppermint tea and custard.”
At that point, a somewhat bemused Albus interrupted. “Bring two dinners, Wilspy. I don’t like to eat alone,” he added with a smile to Minerva.
After the house-elf had Apparated away, Albus grinned at Minerva. “So, Mother McGonagall, what determined tonight’s menu? All your favourites?”
Minerva rolled her eyes, suddenly becoming a little girl again. “Of course not! I don’t even really like roast beef much. I just thought it would be good for you, and,” she finished seriously, “bring your strength back. And I have noticed you eat creamed spinach, but never eat it when we have it plain, and my mother always says spinach is revitalising. After a heavy meal, you shouldn’t have a heavy dessert; custard also has eggs in it, so it’s good for you.”
Albus chuckled softly. “I am fortunate, then, that you were here upon my return, or I might have eaten something unsuitable, such as cheese toast and chocolate biscuits.”
Albus was teasing, but Minerva never minded it when he teased, and he did seem to appreciate her ordering dinner.
“Well, sir, you should wash up now since she’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Right you are, Mother McGonagall,” he replied with a smile.
Albus rose and went through his office to the small washroom Minerva had known was there, but had never used. She never even attempted to enter the professor’s office when he wasn’t there, let alone use his washroom. Instead, if she needed to go to the loo, she would close up the classroom and walk to the far end of the corridor to the girls’ bathroom, then return.
Albus stepped out of his office, drying his hands on a linen towel. There were certain things he still preferred to do without magic; washing his hands was one of them. His face was pink and slightly damp, and Minerva thought his hair looked less tousled, as well.
“Well, what are you waiting for, Miss McGonagall? Wash up! You don’t need an invitation, you know. It’s not a four-star establishment.” Albus grinned at her impishly.
Minerva smiled and walked past him into the tiny bathroom. There was a toilet to the right of the door and a small sink to the left of it. Several clean towels hung on the wall, courtesy of the Hogwarts’ house-elves, no doubt. Minerva washed up quickly and rejoined her professor in the classroom to find that he had Transfigured a classroom desk into a small dining table, and two of the chairs into ornate dining chairs with cushions and arm rests. Apparently the linen towel was now a tablecloth, and one of the sconces had become a candelabra.
Albus stood when she entered the room and pulled her chair out from the table for her. “It may not rate four stars, but we do what we can to make a lady welcome at le Restaurant chez Albus!” he joked as he pushed gently on the back of the chair.
Minerva giggled softly. She wondered when Wilspy would return with the food. She felt a little awkward, despite the fact that she had studied with Professor Dumbledore for almost four years and had eaten more than one meal with him in this very classroom.
“Um, Professor? May I ask you a question?” Minerva didn’t generally preface her questions with a request for permission, especially not when in a classroom, but she could see that her teacher still looked weary and distracted.
“Of course, my dear, always.” Albus paused. “I may not always be able to answer them, though.”
“It’s not that sort of question, at least I don’t think it is,” Minerva said. “It’s just that, even as a prefect, I usually have to call a house-elf a few times before one responds, and it is usually not the one I was calling. Why did Wilspy come when I called her?”
“Ah, other than the fact that you are a charming witch?” Albus asked. “I asked her to keep an eye on you while you were in the classroom.” At Minerva’s expression, Albus could see that she was on the verge of taking offense. “Only to keep an eye out for you, not to report on you to me. I just wanted to be sure that when I’m not here, my dear, there’s someone who knows where you are, just in case anything happens – an accident or such.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then, I guess,” said Minerva. “But I’m very careful. And I wouldn’t do anything in here while you’re away that you wouldn’t approve of.” Minerva blushed, thinking of the kind of advantage some of the girls would take of an empty, password-warded classroom.
“I know that, Minerva, that’s why I trusted you with your own password.” At that, their dinner arrived, unaccompanied by any house-elf, just popping into place before them. “You know, don’t you, that you may also access my office with the same password.”
“Really? I never tried that,” said Minerva, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice.
“No? Well, please feel free to use the washroom, or to read any of the books. I don’t keep any of the dangerous ones in the office. I trust you not to remove them without permission, of course, nor to give others access, or I wouldn’t have let you use the classroom at all, my dear.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
Their conversation subsided as they ate. Minerva wasn’t particularly hungry, having had her own dinner earlier in the evening. Albus, on the other hand, ate steadily, but seemingly without enjoyment. Minerva watched him as he ate and thought how tired he looked and wondered what curses had grazed him and who had cast them. Would they have a lasting effect, despite his nonchalant attitude?
After Albus had started his dessert, eating with the same silent concentration with which he had eaten everything else, Minerva poured him some peppermint tea.
“Thank you, Minerva. I am sorry I haven’t been particularly good company.”
“Oh, don’t be, sir! But really, I can’t help but worry a little about you.” Minerva hesitated, not sure how much to say. Well, he hadn’t taken offense yet. “Do you know what curses, um, grazed you? Are you sure that you aren’t injured?”
“Yes, and yes. Do not worry about me. Worry about your OWLs. I assume that was what you were studying for this evening?”
“Yes, Professor. But I am still concerned. You know that you could return the essays later in the week. I doubt that more than a few of the students are that concerned about them, anyway, and you look as though you could fall asleep on your feet.”
“I am tired, but I shall at least start reading them. They aren’t long.”
“Perhaps I could help you, then? I’ve been helping a few second-year students with their work, so I’m familiar with what you’ve been covering with them. Please let me do something.”
Albus looked at her speculatively, then said, “All right. I shall give you a few of them to read. On a separate sheet of parchment, you will write the name of each student, followed by comments on their work. As I said, it’s only a short essay, ten inches, on the difference between the intention required when Transfiguring natural inorganic substances and that required when Transfiguring an inorganic artifact.”
Rising from the table, he Transfigured it back into a student desk, sending the candelabra back to the wall to resume its duty as a sconce. He picked up the towel, which had also returned to its original form, and disappeared into his office. When he reappeared with a sheaf of parchments, he handed her five of them.
Without further conversation, the two set to work. Minerva actually enjoyed writing comments on each essay. She finished the third student essay, then looked up at Albus, ready to share an amusing error she’d just read. Instead, she stopped as she drew her breath, unsettled by what she saw. Her professor was simply sitting, gazing into space, eyes unfocused and clouded over, quill held loose and idle in his right hand. Minerva stood, went to him, and removed the quill from his hand.
“Professor, Professor. You should go to bed. Really. I will finish these and leave them for you in your office. It won’t take long, and it will be fun.” She saw that there were bright tears gathered in his eyes, unshed. Tentative, she placed a hand on his shoulder and said even more softly, “You need some sleep if you are to teach tomorrow, sir.” Minerva wished she could say something comforting, but she had no idea what that might be. Any circumstances under which he would have been grazed by multiple curses could not have been good.
Albus turned toward her slightly. “Thank you, Minerva. I believe you are right.” He stood then, and she let her hand drop. “I am sorry, my dear,” he said.
“Sorry? Please don’t be, Professor. After all you have done for me, the least I can do is read a few essays for you,” she said briskly, trying to behave as though she hadn’t just seen tears in the eyes of her favourite professor. She didn’t want him embarrassed. “Besides which, by helping you, I’ll feel as though I’m doing what I can for the war effort.”
Albus’s eyes brightened again, this time without tears. “Ah, contributing to the war effort – well, Miss McGonagall, I shall deputise you, for tonight, anyway, to assist me. But you must not neglect your studies – your OWL results will determine which classes you may take at NEWT level, and you know that I believe it important that you continue in Arithmancy, as well as Transfiguration, Defence, and Charms. And any others of your choice, of course.”
Ah, here was her Professor Dumbledore back again.
“Yes, sir. I’m studying hard; don’t worry about that.”
Albus wrote something on a scrap of parchment and handed it to her. “In case you are not back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew, as I believe you are not on the Prefect Patrol list for tonight.”
With that, he picked up his bag, bade her good-night with a small smile, and left. Minerva worked diligently for the next few hours, writing her comments for each essay on a separate parchment and adding recommended grades at the end of each set of comments. When she was done, she looked at her results and thought a moment. She took out the note that Dumbledore had written for her and examined it, refreshing her memory. Minerva then picked up her wand and went through the student essays, transferring her comments to each parchment and charming her hand-writing to look like her professor’s. She did not add any of the recommended grades, however, deciding that this operation had been risky enough, as it went far beyond what he had asked her to do. She then pulled a fresh parchment from her bag and wrote him a note:
“Dear Professor Dumbledore:
“I hope you had a restorative sleep. I have taken the liberty to charm my comments onto the student parchments in your hand. It is a simple charm, and I am sure you will have no trouble reversing it if my comments are inappropriate; I hoped to save you some time, however, so please forgive me if I have made any more work for you by doing this. I have included suggested grades on the original sheet that contains my comments. I do not vouch for their accuracy.
“Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to help.
“Sincerely,
“Minerva M. McGonagall”
She placed the corrected parchments on his office desk, her letter on top of them, then closed the office door, gathered her books, and left for Gryffindor Tower. She had no need to use the note that Professor Dumbledore had given her, for she met no one on the way. She slipped it into her Transfiguration textbook when she got to her room. As she fell asleep that night, she remembered the unshed tears in Professor Dumbledore’s eyes and resolved to do what she could to make his life easier, recognising with a yawn and a sigh how little that probably was.