Resolving a Misunderstanding

Minerva was up to her elbows in parchment at the Ministry that cold January afternoon in 1945. She wasn’t doing what she would have wanted to, following her NEWTs and leaving Hogwarts. If there had been no war, unquestionably she would have pursued an apprenticeship in Transfiguration. There was, however, a war, and although the Daily Prophet had been predicting its imminent end for the last three years, Minerva knew when she left Hogwarts that there was little chance of the war ending well unless all capable witches and wizards did what they could to bring it to a close – preferably one that did not involve Grindelwald controlling all magical and Muggle governments in Europe. So she had applied to the Ministry, as had so many of her classmates. She believed that with her skills in Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence – particularly the advanced knowledge of wards she had picked up while working with Dumbledore – she would be a valuable asset in the fight against Grindelwald. But she had ended up here, in this little office in the Department for International Magical Cooperation, War Division, researching and recommending charms at the best of times and sorting requisitions for Charmed objects at the worst of time. As she sorted requisitions, she had thought that particular day was one of the worst of times. Then, rather than one of the runty little Scops Owls, which were used by all the other Departments who sent her requisitions, flapping in to make a delivery, she received a purple parchment aeroplane requesting her immediate presence in the office of the Minister for Magic. Her day only got worse.

When Minerva arrived, she was ushered, without a word of explanation, into the large conference room adjacent to the Minister’s office. To her astonishment, it appeared that the actual Prime Minister was in the room, as well as three people who appeared to be Muggle officers – or were they wizards in uniform? – and four Aurors, one of whom Minerva recognised as young Scrimgeour, who was fast making a name for himself as a dedicated and fearsome opponent of all those who supported Grindelwald. They were dressed in muted red cloaks and rusty-coloured trousers and blouses, wartime dress that had been adopted in the last year to ease the Aurors’ ability to pass back and forth between the wizarding and Muggle worlds. Minerva thought they still would seem rather conspicuous walking down a Muggle street, but no one had ever asked for her opinion on the subject.

At her entrance, the men who had been standing and examining a map on the far wall, turned, and those who were seated at the table, including Minister Ouellette and the Prime Minister, stood.

The new Minister for Magic, Oliver Ouellette, whom Minerva had met twice in situations in which she thought she would be highly forgettable to someone in his position, greeted her, “We are very glad you could join us, Miss McGonagall.”

He came around the table and motioned to one of the Aurors to pull out a chair for her. The chair he indicated was to his right and across from the Prime Minister, who still stood by his chair, chewing an unlit cigar, waiting for her to be seated.

“This is who we’ve been waitin’ for?” asked one of the uniform-clad men. Minerva thought he had an American accent, but maybe it was Australian. “They’ve brought us a schoolgirl?! We don’t need somebody makin’ us coffee! This is a serious –” He was interrupted by a glare from the Prime Minister, and he ceased his protest immediately. Well, thought Minerva, at least this Yank is well-trained, even if he is disgustingly rude.

“Colonel, Miss McGonagall is a graduate of one of England’s finest educational institutions. True, it may be a slightly unorthodox school, but I have been assured by the Ministry for Magic that she is fully qualified, and not a schoolgirl. And if your invective was aimed at her gender rather than her qualifications, I suggest you reconsider. My mother was an American woman, therefore I doubt, sir, that you are unacquainted with the many strengths, as well as the virtues, with which a woman may be endowed. And may I also remind you that you are here as a courtesy to General Eisenhower, which courtesy may be withdrawn at any moment. And I will not hesitate to have these gentlemen in red Obliviate you before you leave.” A lesser man would have asked if he had made himself clear; Churchill merely gazed at the American from beneath a stern brow.

Minerva looked on as the Colonel turned beet red, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and was surprised when he turned toward her.

“My apologies, Miss Mc- . . . um, apologies.”

“Now, if we are done wasting time here, let’s get down to it,” said Minister Ouellette, nodding curtly to the colonel, who Minerva could now recognize was wearing a different uniform from the other two men, whose uniforms appeared to be from the British Army and the Royal Air Force, respectively. When she had begun working at the Ministry, Minerva had been given a pamphlet with pictures of all the different uniforms worn by Allied troops and explanations of the various ranks, but she hadn’t looked at it very carefully. Her menial job never brought her into contact with any Muggles, so it had seemed rather pointless at the time.

Minerva had barely got over being startled by the company in which she found herself and the peculiar reception she had received, when she found out why she had been summoned to the Minister’s office so precipitously.

“To put it briefly, Albus Dumbledore is missing.” Minerva went cold at the Minister’s words, but forced herself to pay attention to what the Minister was saying. She would let herself react later, she thought.

“From what we know, he had successfully completed a mission in co-operation with American and British Muggle forces. Two Aurors had accompanied him. They were supposed to be a sort of guard for him, although we all know how well that usually turns out.” There were a few grins around the table. “Your Professor Dumbledore has a tendency to leave his Aurors behind if he believes them unnecessary, or inconvenient, since, as he once expressed it to me, he’s ‘an old coot’ and it was better to leave the young men out of any danger, if possible. It is clear that he left the British camp in the company of the two Aurors and two British soldiers, a Lieutenant – what was his name? – Rogers, and a private, who was driving the vehicle.”

“A jeep,” added the British Army officer, unhelpfully.

“Yes, just so. Well, perhaps at this point, Auror Scrimgeour might be able to recount the details better than I.”

“Ah, no, sir, you are doing very well,” replied the Auror, although he proceeded with the narrative. “We know that Professor Dumbledore and the four men he was with inadvertently entered an area in which there was some German troop movement. At the time they had left camp, the most recent intelligence indicated that their route was clear. By the time they went missing, this was no longer the case. We also know that the jeep in which they were riding either drove over a landmine or was hit by a mortar. From the damage to the jeep, it appears to have been the former rather than the latter. That evidence also accords with other information that we have received.”

“For heaven’s sake, man, get to the point!” The RAF officer was clearly restless at the recitation of facts he already knew.

Without missing a beat, Scrimgeour continued. “The plan in place was that the driver and the officer would drop Dumbledore and the two Aurors near a particular crossroads, where, ostensibly, they would meet up with other members of a special, secret force – that is the cover that we normally give to explain the presence of Aurors in Muggle battle zones – in actuality, the three wizards would wait until the jeep was well out of sight and then Apparate to our headquarters outside of Amiens, where they could then Apparate or Portkey to their next assignment or, in Professor Dumbledore’s case, back to London.

“We know that is not what happened. It looks as though the three wizards left the jeep just before the two roads intersected. It appears to have been fortuitous that they did so since the jeep was destroyed as it entered the crossroad.”

“How do you know the three got out before the jeep . . . exploded?” asked Minerva. “If they are missing, isn’t it possible that they were all . . . .” Minerva couldn’t continue with that thought.

“We know because of certain evidence, Miss McGonagall,” said Churchill, evidently also impatient with Scrimgeour’s long-winded explanation. “First, we found the jeep and the remains of the two British soldiers. Those remains make it clear that they were in the jeep when it exploded. We also know that Dumbledore did not Apparate away, because we received a message from him. Dumbledore always carried one of those Portkeys with him, in the event that he were ever unable to Apparate.”

Minerva marvelled at the ease with which the Muggle Prime Minister used these wizarding terms – he seemed to have familiarised himself with the wizarding world to a greater extent than she’d thought possible.

“It was imperative to our government – and by ‘our,’ Miss McGonagall, I speak of His Majesty’s entire government, not just the Ministry for Magic – that Dumbledore fall into the hands of neither the Germans nor of that rogue wizard, Grindelwald. Your Professor Dumbledore, however, is truly the best of the best of men that this small Island produces: brave in facing whatever lies ahead, unwavering in his conviction to follow the path of Right, and without peer in his readiness to sacrifice his all for the sake of freedom, and the hope of freedom, not for himself alone, but for his comrades and for us all.”

As the Prime Minister spoke of Dumbledore’s “readiness to sacrifice his all,” dread grew in Minerva’s heart. They had said “missing” when she had arrived; was that a mere euphemism for “captured” – or worse? And why would they want her here? To be sure, her interest in his well-being was great, but these men had no way of knowing that, nor would they waste their time with such long explanations if they merely wished to inform her of her mentor’s disappearance or capture. Minerva felt she was scarcely breathing as she waited for Churchill to finish his explanation, which seemed to her as long-winded as Scrimgeour’s.

“I am no wizard, Miss McGonagall, but from what I understand of these things, the Portkey in Dumbledore’s possession was created so that only he could activate it, and none other, and only he could actually be transported with it. It also has the capacity to carry only one person. These measures were taken in order that, should it fall into the wrong hands, it could not be used to infiltrate our secret wizarding headquarters in France.”

Despite his limited understanding of Portkeys (although how many wizards actually understood them?) – after all, a Portkey doesn’t “carry” you like a motorcar – Minerva was struck that Churchill spoke of the wizarding world and the wizarding government as though they were a mere off-shoot of the Muggle world and as though he actually exercised some authority over them or as though he at least had some interest and influence on them. This was highly unusual, from what Minerva understood.

“But apparently when the jeep exploded,” the Prime Minister continued, “Dumbledore and the two Aurors were still very close to the vehicle and were caught in the blast. One of the Aurors had been badly injured. Somehow Dumbledore altered his Portkey to allow it to transport someone other than himself. He did not, or was unable to, alter it to allow more than one person to travel with it, however. The injured Auror appeared in British wizarding headquarters outside of Amiens approximately,” the Prime Minister drew out his watch, “five hours ago. On his person, in addition to the Portkey, was a note from Dumbledore, written with a biro on a scrap of paper. It indicated his current position, but noted that the explosion had drawn the attention of German soldiers in the area. We believe he may have come under fire, although we do not know that. We do know that some of the blood on the paper, according to your medical wizards, belonged to him and not to the young Auror whose life he saved by giving him the Portkey.”

Minerva had thought she was cold before, but at these final words, her blood seemed to turn to ice in her veins.

At that point, the sandy-haired American colonel picked up the story with his peculiar drawl. “As soon as we got word that he was missin’, we sent out a search party, bein’ as we were the closest. Our platoon found the jeep with the two dead Brits, but no sign of General Dumbledore or the other man. We were only able to make a brief search since it was daylight, and the jerries were too thick on the ground. There was evidence that the area had come under fire recently – my men found bullets and shell casings – though nothin’ that would tell us whether the men fought back, or whether they escaped or were captured.”

“At least Dumbledore must have been injured, that was clear enough from the blood,” continued Scrimgeour, taking over again, “and probably fairly badly, because he didn’t Apparate. Although, of course it is possible that the second Auror was too injured to transport by Side-Along-Apparition and Dumbledore wouldn’t leave him behind.”

Minerva, finding her voice now, at what appeared to be the end of their story, said, “You keep referring to the two Aurors who were with him, but haven’t said who they were. Who were they? And are they trustworthy?”

The oldest of the Aurors, a short man with a small mustache and a round belly, spoke for the first time. “They are completely trust-worthy, Miss McGonagall; I believe you know them both. The one to whom Dumbledore gave his Portkey is a young man named Alastor Moody.”

Minerva nodded; she remembered him well. He’d been a year behind her at Hogwarts, but was almost two years younger than she. She was shocked they would have sent someone so young into such a dangerous situation.

“The other, whom I believe you also know,” he continued, “is named Murphy – Colin? no, Carson – Murphy.”

“Carson?” Of all of the people who could have disappeared with Albus, to Minerva’s mind, he was both the best and the worst. The best because Minerva knew him to be intelligent, brave, and true; the worst because she was already sick with worry about Albus. She now had another friend whose unknown fate made her stomach roil.

“I thought you would know him – you were both the same year at Hogwarts, weren’t you?” he asked.

“We were both prefects,” she replied, nodding, aware of how little that said of their friendship.

“Let us get to the reason that we brought you here, Miss McGonagall,” said Minister Ouellette. “We know of your Animagus ability.”

Of course you do, thought Minerva, it was on my application to the Ministry! And you stuck me in a windowless office sorting requisitions.

“We had thought to make use of it prior to this, but, well, perhaps the time wasn’t right. . . . Are we correct in believing that you” – here the Minister consulted a parchment in front of him – “become a domestic cat?” At these words, all three of the Muggle officers goggled at her. Churchill’s expression did not change.

“Yes, sir, a tabby cat.”

“We really must make Animagus registration mandatory when this is all over,” Ouellette muttered to himself, making a note on the parchment. “Am I also correct in understanding that you worked with Albus Dumbledore on a special, shall we say, classified project?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir, unless you mean the extra credit Transfiguration projects I did with him.” Minerva had never forgotten her promise to her mentor that summer before her sixth year never to reveal the nature of the warding project to anyone. He had never included the Minister of Magic, the Prime Minister of England, or any of these other men, as exceptions to that promise.

“Capital, my dear, capital,” Churchill said, with the closest thing to a smile that Minerva had yet seen from the man, nodding to Minister Ouellette. “Yes, she is to be trusted.”

Minerva had hoped that when Dumbledore had recommended her to the Ministry, he might have made some mention of her work with him on the wards. She thought it might have got her a better job, one where she could really make a contribution. She had always believed he hadn’t said anything to anyone at the Ministry, and, given the nature of the warding project, she hadn’t blamed him. Now it seemed that at least one or two of the people in the room might already know about her participation in it. Nonetheless, Minerva wasn’t going to say anything more.

Ouellette gazed at her hard for a moment, then asked, “Is it fair to say, however, Miss McGonagall, that you are familiar with Professor Dumbledore’s magic and perhaps with some of the ways he might use it in such a situation?”

“After studying with him so closely, and after training with him to become an Animagus, I can certainly say that I am familiar with his magic. As to any ways he might use it in this situation . . . I am not an Auror, sir, nor have I had any training from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Mysteries in battle tactics or espionage.” Though not for want of trying, she thought, considering all her applications for transfer to another division.

“I understand that in your Animagus form, you take on some of its unique characteristics, such as improved night vision and a heightened sense of smell, that sort of thing,” questioned Ouellette.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, Winston,” he said, turning to the Prime Minister, “I believe we have the answers we need – other than the final one, of course. What do you think?”

“Winston,” who did not appear to appreciate the familiar address, bared a canine after the manner of the bulldog so many likened him to, and replied curtly, “Yes, she will do well, I believe.” He turned to Minerva. “Miss McGonagall, may I ask that you serve your country, and your mentor, by entering German-occupied France and searching for – no, finding – your Professor Dumbledore?”

“Of course, sir,” Minerva said without hesitation. “I am ready to leave at this moment.” An entire hour had passed while they had been discussing the situation. Anything could have happened to Albus – and to Carson – in that time.

“It is still daylight, Miss McGonagall,” said the unidentified pot-bellied Auror who had spoken earlier. “We have arranged a Portkey for you for dusk, which will bring you close to the crossroads where they were last known to be. You will be accompanied by an experienced Auror – sorry, Scrimgeour, not this time,” he said in response to that Auror’s slight cry of protest. “In the meantime, I suggest you eat and study these maps. There are both Muggle and wizarding maps of the area surrounding the crossroads, covering a three mile radius.”

“Only three miles?” Minerva interrupted.

“Yes. First, it is unlikely that, given the presence of the Muggle enemy troops and the fact that one or both of them is injured, they could have made it any further than that. Second, you will Portkey in after having Transfigured, and you will stay in your Animagus form until they are found, except for brief periods when you may need to speak with Auror Frankel. As a cat, there is a limit to the distance you can travel.” Hmmpf, thought Minerva, he evidently doesn’t know the first thing about cats.

“Third, we have intelligence that suggests Grindelwald may be active in the area just to the south of that. Unless they had no other choice or had become badly disoriented, I do not believe Dumbledore or Murphy would have headed in that direction. This surmise also narrows your focus. Let me make clear, Miss McGonagall, that Auror Frankel is in charge of this search. Unless he tells you otherwise, you are to cast no spells, and you are to remain in your Animagus form at all times unless it becomes necessary to communicate with him. Are you clear on this?” the little man asked.

“Of course, sir,” she responded, thinking, Until he gets in the way of finding Albus, he can be ‘in charge.’

“We chose Frankel not only because he is an experienced Auror, but also because he speaks fluent German, having German grandparents. He will be dressed in Muggle civilian clothes. In the unlikely event that you meet any Germans, you must remain in your Animagus form and stay hidden. He will communicate with them.”

“And what if we meet any French?” asked Minerva, “Does he speak French, as well?”

“Only a little, but unless they are collaborators, that should pose no problem. He is also authorised to Obliviate anyone, as necessary, or to eliminate other ‘obstacles’ in whatever way he sees fit. I am more concerned with the possibility of your being discovered by any of Grindelwald’s followers – or any witch or wizard, for that matter, since he utilises somewhat extreme tactics to gain information from reluctant witnesses; thus, even coming to the notice of an innocent wizard could have negative consequences for both you and the witness.”

As the little pot-bellied Auror was finishing his speech, Churchill began to rise from his seat. The other men around the table did so as well, and as Churchill approached her, Minerva got to her feet.

“His Majesty’s government thanks you for your readiness to serve your country in her hour of need, Miss McGonagall. It is with pride that I extend this thanks, pride that you have risen to take this challenge which, unlooked for, Fate has presented you. It is the youth of our nation who expend their lives in defence of us all; the bloom of youth has not yet left your cheek, and, loathe though we are to send our young women where must needs we send our young men, that loathing diminishes neither our pride nor our gratitude. I wish you the strength and courage that God gave to you and Britain made in you, Miss McGonagall, and may Fortune, sister to Fate, lead you to your goal and then home again.”

With that, the Prime Minister and three Muggles left the conference room. Minerva barely had a moment to wonder where they were going or how they would get there from the Ministry, when she was aware the Minister for Magic was speaking to her again.

“I shall leave you, then, in the capable hands of Auror Sprangle, and I will have my secretary send in some food for you. This is as good a room as any for you to prepare and wait for the Portkey.” Sprangle must be the little fellow with the belly, thought Minerva.

Unbidden, the words “spero et expecto” came to Minerva’s mind, the first password Albus had set her for his classroom. “Minister, Auror Sprangle, I was wondering . . . a request.” Minerva hesitated, the others observing her, clearly wondering whether she was going to change her mind. “Could the Portkey be set to respond to the words ‘spero et expecto’?” she asked.

“Certainly, Miss McGonagall, it makes no difference what the trigger word is.” The Minister turned to Scrimgeour and said, “Go take care of the Portkeys now and then send up Frankel.” Turning back to Minerva, he added, “you two should meet.”