Epithalamium (Harry Potter for grown-ups)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

"Nicely done," Minerva said, peeling herself off the mat after having been knocked off her feet by the jinx she hadn't even seen coming.

She and Amelia were duelling in one of MLE's four practice rooms at the Ministry of Magic. As Minerva wiped her sweaty face with the small towel Amelia had conjured and tossed to her, she said, "Listen, would you mind if I begged off lunch today? I've been giving extra lessons to some of the N.E.W.T. students, and I'm terribly behind in putting together my lesson plans for the next month."

"Of course, Minerva. No worries," replied Amelia. "Speaking of, though, I've been meaning to ask: Are there any seventh-years you think are worth my looking at?"

"Albus knows them better than I do, but I can think of one I'd recommend based on what I've seen of his Transfiguration work, although he's been having some difficulty lately. He's one of the school's best duellists; he won the Inter-House championship last year. I think he's already applied, though. I can ask the other professors for their thoughts, if you like."

"I would, thanks. Edgecombe's after me to recruit a few more poor sods. We've had only a single application this year, and that's a first. It's been too quiet lately; nobody wants to be an Auror when there's nothing happening."

The two women showered in the MLE locker room and said their goodbyes, then Minerva left the Ministry via the telephone box and Apparated from the usual alleyway off Lambeth Walk to the gates of Hogwarts.

Sleep had eluded Minerva much of the previous night. She had finally taken a half-dose of Dreamless Sleep at ten past three and nearly didn't wake in time to make her eight o'clock sparring date, at which she had performed abysmally, in any event, tired and distracted as she was.

She had lain awake most of the night, mulling over what Albus had told her, trying and failing to work out exactly how she felt about it. Perhaps it was shock preventing her from sorting her feelings—there had been so much new and painful information in Albus's monologue that she almost didn't know where to begin. The sudden sensation of being doused in cold water when he had told her about loving Gellert Grindelwald had left her slightly numb and unable to feel much of anything, at least until his anguish over his sister's death had snapped her out of it. Then her heart had quite literally ached for him, and that ache was what drove her now.

An irrational fear that he would be gone when she got to the school gripped her when she had awoken this morning. His attempt to withdraw from her had been so sudden, so unexpected; something had happened, she was certain—something that had brought up the terrible story that had come tumbling from him.

She had to see him, to reassure herself that he was all right, that he was still the man she had loved. The discovery that he was so much more damaged than she had ever imagined made her question whether he could ever truly love her, fully and unreservedly. The depth of his guilt and self-loathing might put that dream forever beyond her reach. It was not something she could fix, she knew that. Experience had taught her the hard lesson that some things were beyond even Minerva McGonagall's formidable will and extraordinary talent. The question of the hour was, then, what did she want to do?

It was just before lunchtime when she presented herself to the gargoyle guarding his office.

"The Headmaster is unavailable," the creature intoned.

"May I leave him a message?"

"As you wish."

She conjured a bit of parchment and a quill, and jotted down a few lines to tell him she was anxious to see him and that she would be in her office most of the afternoon. The gargoyle opened its mouth, and Minerva tucked the rolled parchment inside, where it disappeared. She went to her office and tried to concentrate on lesson planning.