So, as you all have realised by now, I'm the absolute worst at updating in a timely fashion. I therefore apologise once more, and give you a chapter that's considerably longer than many of the one-shots I've written. As always, I promise to try to update more frequently (emphasis on the 'try' in that clause), and as always, nothing that you recognise from the JK Rowling series is mine.

Pensieve and Promises

Minerva had never travelled to Hogwarts without the benefit of the Hogwarts Express, and while she enjoyed watching the English countryside flash by from her seat in the gently swaying Muggle train, the ride was oddly quiet, other than Perdita's occasional fussing. She kept expecting the witch with the tray of Pumpkin Pasties to appear in her car, but had no such luck as the hours dragged by. Moody had told her that she'd have to lean through one of the barriers in Glasgow, the same as at King's Cross, and she was relieved to find herself on the magical side of the train station once she got there, surrounded by a few scattered witches and wizards reading The Daily Prophet on the benches.

'Destination?' asked the conductor as Minerva sat down on a bench with Perdita gurgling happily on her lap.

'Hogsmeade,' Minerva answered, handing him her ticket.

The conductor checked the ticket, coughed, tapped it with his wand, and held it back out to Minerva.

'Should be here in five minutes or so,' he informed her with a strong Glaswegian accent. He waggled a few fingers at Perdita, grinning. 'Safe travels to you and your bairn, ma'am.'

Minerva was not sure if she should be offended or complimented at being called 'ma'am' at the tender age of eighteen, but she refrained from complaining, and boarded the train when it came puffing up to the station a few moments later.

The baby was asleep by the time the train rumbled into the Hogsmeade station, and even Minerva had to shake herself free of a bit of drowsiness as she descended the steps of the train. She hadn't realised how much she had missed Hogsmeade until she found herself at its gates; an unexpected lump constricted her throat and she had to sternly suppress the tears that threatened to overwhelm her as she passed back into her old world.

Nevertheless, sitting in the Three Broomsticks felt different than it had when she was a student and had wanted to gossip about something or other with Augusta or Pomona. Minerva reflected ruefully that, as the pub itself looked precisely as it always had, it could only be she herself who had changed so dramatically. Sighing, she put away Perdita's baby bottle and, flipping open a copy of the Wiener Weissager that she had brought with her, swapped her spectacles for her Translating Trifocals so that she could skim the headlines.

'I had no idea you spoke German, Minerva,' said a familiar voice as Minerva finished jotting down a few notes on the latest round of riots in Graz.

'Hello, Professor,' she said, stashing her quill in her robes as Dumbledore took a seat across from her. 'I don't speak a word of it, actually, but Moody's found a way to get me reading it anyway.'

She handed Dumbledore her Trifocals as she fished out her own spectacles again.

'How ingenious,' he remarked, testing them over his own half-moon frames. 'What my sixteen-year-old self would have done for a pair of these.'

'Why, were you forced to learn German?' asked Minerva, fairly positive that learning German was something that the Transfiguration professor would have done for fun at that age.

'Not forced. I made a silly bet with a friend of mine, that I could learn the language well enough within six months to translate accurately any page of Goethe that he chose. I won the wager, of course, but I never did go visit him in Germany, as planned, and I'll confess that my German is fairly rusty by now. It was a long time ago, als ich sehr jung und dumm war.'

Some indecipherable emotion flickered across Dumbledore's face, but it disappeared before Minerva could fathom what it meant.

'But enough of that,' he said, his amiable self once more. 'You haven't given me a proper introduction to our guest of honour, here.'

'In most spheres, you need no introduction, Professor,' Minerva remarked, lifting Perdita out of her pram. 'Have I mentioned that my friend Akemi has been frantic to meet you for months now?'

'Ah, the Auror Office's resident American? Well, that's unexpected and very kind of her.'

'She wrote a paper on the twelve uses of dragon blood when she was at Proctor,' Minerva explained. 'That's what made Professor Dumbledore here famous, Perdita, and that's why your friend Akemi wants to pick his brain on the subject sometime.'

The baby simply stared in wide-eyed curiosity at the professor seated opposite, then grinned toothlessly and waved her arms a bit. Dumbledore smiled and waved his wand so that a few shimmering butterflies fluttered across the table and above Perdita's head as she stared at them in fascination.

'I'd let you hold her, but she'd probably just tug at your beard,' Minerva said apologetically, laying the baby back in her pram, where she remained quietly entertained by the incorporeal butterflies.

'No offense taken,' laughed Dumbledore. 'So, what have you been doing recently, Minerva, other than caring for this little one?'

A curvy young witch in high heels came by to take their orders. Minerva waited until they were alone to answer Dumbledore.

'Research for Moody, as I'm sure he's told you. Hence the spectacles, and the German-language newspapers, and the need for your Pensieve.' Minerva hesitated. 'Your friend, Professor Bagolyi…'

'Yes.' Dumbledore's face almost seemed to close off as he remembered the friend to whom he had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

'Well, before she…' Minerva swallowed; it still gave her chills to remember the burnt witch bleeding to death on her hearth. 'She gave me a few memories to look over. There were supposed to be more, but the bottle was lost in the Floo network somewhere.'

'She was a great scholar,' said Dumbledore with effort. 'Brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts work – she and Professor Merrythought co-authored a book once on the subject – but her real passion was magical law. I can't think of anyone else in the world who could fill her shoes so ably, and with such a zest for communicating ideas. We always meant to see more of each other than we ever did in practice, and now…'

He smiled sadly down at the top of the table. Minerva suddenly felt very acutely aware that the last scrap of a woman's mind was contained in a bottle in her pocket.

'But enough of that,' said Dumbledore. 'You mentioned in your letter that you were in search of advice, and if I can competently address the subject, I would be happy to do so.'

'Oh, that.' Minerva paused again while the curvy witch returned and set down their food. 'Well, I'm not sure how to say this, really.'

Dumbledore folded his hands and waited patiently while Minerva struggled to find the words for what she wanted to say.

'Everything is so uncertain nowadays,' she said finally, not starting at all where she had intended to start. 'Had you asked me before the war began, or even two years ago, where I expected my life to be right now, I wouldn't have dreamt it would be like this. I never thought I'd get married this young, and I certainly never thought I'd have a child until I was much older. This is how things worked out, and I don't regret it at all, I really don't.'

Dumbledore's silence more than implied the inevitable questioning but. Minerva glanced at Perdita, who was clearly wondering where the glowing butterflies had disappeared to, and then looked back at her old professor.

'But half the time, when I'm home alone with her, I can't help but think about my desk at the Auror Office,' she said. 'It's the most curious thing. I mean, there's nothing extraordinary about that desk, and Merlin knows I spent far too many hours sitting in it, wishing I were elsewhere, when I had exams coming up, but… but I can't help but think, what if? What if things were different? What if I were back there, and had been certified along with Akemi and the boys, and could go out and do fieldwork and actually help to make a difference?'

Dumbledore looked as though he wanted to say something, but, to his credit, he stayed silent still and let Minerva vent the rest of her conflicted thoughts.

'I know that Moody says that the research that I'm doing is really helpful to the Auror Office. And I know that he's right, and that I am making a difference, in my own small way. But I don't feel like I was meant to stay indoors while others risked their lives for me, Professor. I'd rather be the one out there, in the line of fire, than the one sitting indoors, being helpful but ultimately useless. If I didn't have her, or Jeff, or the house, or all of the rest of it, then maybe I'd still be back in the Bloomsbury house with Akemi, actually doing things, instead of being trapped indoors all day while my husband gets to go out to work and live his own life somewhere else.'

She stopped, and, not knowing what else to do, attacked her salad with her fork.

'Minerva McGonagall, in search of a room of her own,' mused Dumbledore. 'Well, I can't claim to understand your frustration from first-hand experience, but if it helps at all, I can assure you that the Auror Office will still be there once you've sent Miss Perdita off on the Hogwarts Express and find your days a bit too unoccupied.'

'Hopefully the war will be over by then,' said Minerva with a definite sulk to her voice.

'The Auror Office almost certainly will be needed as direly after the war as during,' said Dumbledore darkly. 'And, as human nature sadly seems in little danger of changing to something kinder and less malicious anytime soon, I have no doubt that you will see many memorable and horrifying things during a long, post-child-rearing career, should you choose to pursue one.'

'Eleven years is a long time,' Minerva sighed, lending Perdita a finger to grab.

'Take it from an experienced teacher, Minerva: Children grow up fast. You'll be surprised to find out how much so. Your seven years at Hogwarts may have dragged on for you, but for we who are more accustomed to navigating the channels of time, those same years flew by. I know it may seem incredible – and, in all honesty, time is the most incredible and indescribable substance we can possibly imagine – but you'll have to trust me.' Dumbledore paused to take a sip of water. 'So, what is Alastor hoping that you'll discover in a Viennese daily?'

'Unusual goings-on. I'm not sure how else to describe it.'

'Unusual? How so?'

'Disappearances, crimes stemming from discrimination, vigilante and paramilitary violence against minorities. Things that The Prophet might not find important enough to report, but which fall into disturbing patterns when compiled all together.'

'I see.' Dumbledore's voice was weary with understanding. 'And?'

'Mostly attacks against Muggle-borns, obviously, but we've noticed that there have been a disproportionate number against even purebloods of Jewish and Gypsy descent. I haven't yet done any research as to why that might be…'

'Well, I may be able to help you on that count,' Dumbledore cut in heavily. 'Be sure to scold Alastor on my behalf for never reading the Muggle literature that I send him.'

'I'm sure Akemi has been telling him about the goings-on…'

'In the Anglophone Muggle world, perhaps,' Dumbledore interrupted again, 'but the continent is rather different culturally than even we here in Britain, let alone the countries across the Atlantic.' He sighed. 'Did you ever take Muggle Studies, Minerva?'

'No,' she confessed, 'I took Arithmancy, instead.'

'Hmm. I wish that someone would make the class part of the standard curriculum at Hogwarts, but alas, there are only so many hours in the day. You obviously have been raised conscious of the overarching importance that some in our world stake on so-called "blood purity," of course. Beyond that, some striate society based on economic prosperity, some on the national origin of a person's family, and occasionally on religion, although that plays such a small part in the modern cultural life of most British magical families.'

'Old families, at least,' clarified Minerva.

'Indeed. I hope I can speak to you as one who also managed to remain, er, mostly conscious during the better part of Professor Binns' class, in which case you will remember the Accord of Anglia?'

'1811?'

'1812, if memory serves,' corrected Dumbledore. 'Regardless of date, it was the event during which the wizarding community of the British Isles determined to downplay differentiating magical citizens of the country based on their traditional religions or national origins or blood status, in the hopes of binding the dwindling population even more tightly together and thereby preventing its extinction. Obviously, the last of these criteria has died a slower death amongst the general wizarding population than the first two, but even so, the gradual elimination of cultural stigmatisation based on religion or nationality has been gradually accomplished, and all in all has been a rather good thing. By the time Muggle groups in Ireland began to initiate acts of violence in the name of Irish independence, a few decades before you were born, the Irish wizarding community had somewhat forgotten the nationalist and religious motivations of their Muggle compatriots, and indeed regarded the Irish Republican Army's actions with some alarm, although since many decided to be naturalised into the Muggles' newly-created Irish state, I think they've regained a considerable amount of their cultural pride.

'In the Muggle world, however, blood status, at least as we define it, is unheard of; the closest equivalent has to do with inclusion in political systems called monarchies and aristocracies, which are falling out of favour as more and more countries adopt parliamentary democracies like our Ministry, or are overturned by autocrats, like in Russia. Those who feel it necessary to divide and stratify Muggle society, then, still place much emphasis on religion, national origin, and even the colour of a person's skin. And these become the basis of scapegoating, in the way that so many problems in the wizarding community are unjustly blamed upon Muggle-borns.'

'Like Akemi's family being imprisoned by the Muggle government in America,' Minerva said. 'But that doesn't explain why the wizarding community in Europe is beginning to adopt the same mentality.'

'Which brings me to my original point.' Dumbledore paused to take a sip of tea. 'I would wager practically everything I own on the assumption that Grindelwald cares at little for these distinctions as you do. However, he is playing into the same sort of racial hysteria to cater to the whims of the most powerful and useful tools he can find.' Dumbledore frowned into the bottom of his tea cup. 'Tell me, Minerva, how would you go about legally arresting a person who has not committed a crime?'

'Er…' Minerva shrugged. 'Change the laws, I suppose?'

'That's one way, certainly, and Herr Hitler has had no compunctions about doing so, to persecute his targeted groups. How else?'

'Accuse them falsely, or frame them?'

'Certainly, but Grindelwald is craftier than that. What else?'

'I… can't think of anything else. You'd have to force them to do something illegal, otherwise.'

'Precisely. The stereotype of the typical German being a terribly law-abiding individual has a rather solid foundation in truth, and I can't think of a country that has been more vigilant – indeed, nearly obsessive – about upholding the international laws forbidding the use of magic before Muggles. This being the case, whom would you send to arrest a wizard or a witch: a band of Aurors, against which the targeted person in question would be able to engage in a fair magical fight; or a band of highly armed and unyieldingly fanatical Muggle Schutzstaffel, against which the victim could do nothing but go quietly, fight by hand, or attempt to flee, without becoming legally wanted by every other magical government?'

'That's ridiculous,' cut in Minerva. 'Hasn't our Wizengamot held votes to change the rule in Britain, at the very least, so that we can provide legal asylum to the people being persecuted?'

'It has, with no success yet,' sighed Dumbledore wearily. 'To do so would require a long and arduous dissection of the international treaty that unified the law, and there are plenty of protective measures tied up in that, which I'm sure many less-educated officials would not even dare to imperil in times as uncertain as these.'

'So Grindelwald is using Hitler's people against the easiest targets, at present? The witches and wizards who are both Muggle-born, and also Jewish or Gypsy…'

'Or disabled, or openly homosexual, the list goes on.'

'So, what?' Minerva tapped her fork impatiently against the edge of her plate. 'You're implying that every single government across Europe is so law-abiding that they'll uphold an absurd international law, rather than do the moral thing?'

'Oh, not every government is so upstanding, of course,' said Dumbledore lightly, though he still frowned. 'But you have to see that, by being able to legally arrest so many Muggle-born witches and wizards, Grindelwald is able to hold them up as models of why Muggle-borns cannot be trusted, enflaming all sorts of deep-rooted prejudices. Those who support the poor souls being unjustly detained live in constant fear that Grindelwald will turn the tables and argue that they are more intent on protecting a group of rabble-rousers than they are the safety and secrecy of the magical community; those who support Grindelwald and his ideology only see what they have grown up hearing, which is that Muggle-borns are deceitful and would sell out the magical community, as it were, to gain some position of influence in Muggle society after the rest of us have been burned at the stake, or whatever the more-effective modern equivalent might be.'

'That sounds hopeless,' said Minerva bitterly.

'Nothing is ever hopeless,' Dumbledore reminded her gently. 'But culture cannot be legislated, and it takes decades, sometimes centuries, to change minds that have been taught to cling to even the most irrational hatred.'

Minerva sighed and, seeing that her daughter had kicked her blanket askew, tucked it back into place.

'It's funny,' she remarked. 'I know that I was lucky enough to be educated at one of the best schools in the world, and I'm grateful for it, every day. You can't imagine how much I miss Hogwarts, Professor.'

'Having once been a recent graduate myself, I think I might,' hinted Dumbledore, 'but go on.'

'Well, I know that, academically-speaking, I'm on more solid ground than the vast majority of the world. But there are so many things that one doesn't learn in school. How to calculate taxes, for example; or how to reach out to an increasingly distant… friend.' (She had been on the verge of saying 'spouse,' but felt that this was the last thing that she wanted to discuss with Dumbledore.) 'And I realise more and more every day how little I know about what it means to be a good parent. I personally believe that my parents were excellent role models, but how do I live up to their standard in teaching my daughter what is right or wrong in the world? And how do I even know that the beliefs that I was taught as a child are the right ones? I'm sure that many Muggle parents in Germany who send their children to that Hitler Youth programme believe that they are honestly doing the right thing for the children that they love, even if I believe to the core of my being that nothing good can come out of such an action.'

'Who can say?' Dumbledore shrugged. 'If I were permitted to introduce any new course that I desired into the Hogwarts curriculum, and it had to be something arguably more practical for daily life than Mediaeval Species Counterpoint Notation, then it would be Philosophy. Just think, Minerva – the ancient Greeks and their intellectual descendants developed a whole intricate world of thought, based purely on careful observation of the world and rigorous evaluation of the soundness of ideas! If every young person on earth were taught how to objectively look at every idea from all angles, and how to validate or invalidate it on the basis of its unbiased merits, imagine how much better our choices would be as parents, as professors, and, indeed, as human beings.'

'Why on earth don't we learn Philosophy, then?' asked Minerva, who thought that the field sounded immensely sensible by Dumbledore's brief description.

'Alas, because it is a field that was pioneered by Muggles,' sighed Dumbledore, 'and even here in fair Britannia, we have held onto certain prejudices longer than we ourselves realise. Besides, if you asked around Hogwarts, most members of the Board would inform you that learning rational problem-solving techniques is a waste of time in a world where magic can solve so many problems.' He drained the tea at the bottom of his cup and stood, the tip of his long auburn beard brushing the table top. 'But enough of this. I think that you have some memories that need seeing to – and no, Minerva, put your purse away, lunch is always my treat if I'm dining with former students. Shall we go up to the castle?'

Albus could still remember the first time that he had set foot inside Hogwarts as an alumnus, and he could see the same mixture of emotions flickering across Minerva's face as they entered the Great Hall, deserted for the summer. She stopped in the centre of hall, gazing up at the enchanted ceiling (a docile blue, smeared with faint clouds and void of most of the candles that usually lit the feasts), and seemed a bit embarrassed when she noticed Albus waiting patiently for her.

'Sorry,' she said hastily, quickly catching up to him. 'Somehow, in the seven years I spent here, I can't remember ever having really admired the ceiling before. It's an incredible piece of magic.'

'And a lovely view, too,' agreed Albus, smiling upwards.

'Everything seems twice as beautiful as I remember it,' mused Minerva, shaking her head as they continued onwards through the castle. 'All of the carvings, all of the portraits…'

Several of the nearby portraits puffed themselves up importantly at this assessment, although most were too busy curiously eyeing Minerva – 'What's she doing back here? Didn't she graduate?' shouted an old wizard with an ear trumpet in what was clearly meant to be a whisper – or else waving cheerfully at Perdita, who stared wide-eyed back at them with a slightly worried expression creasing her brow.

'Of course, when you were a student here, you were too busy focusing on your studies to enjoy the scenery,' Albus explained. 'When I first came back here to teach, I told myself I would try to explore a different corner of the castle in depth every month, to get to know every last gargoyle and trick tapestry. However, I quickly found that teaching takes up quite as much time as learning, so that rarely happens nowadays, unless I get lost.'

'I doubt that's very often, Professor,' said Minerva with a smile, 'seeing as very few people have spent as many years here as you have.'

'Be that as it may, this castle is so extraordinary in part because it is ever changing,' replied Albus fondly. 'Yes, it may drive me slightly mad that the staircases won't consistently take me to the same place, but isn't that part of the fun of living in a castle with a mind of its own and innumerable secrets to uncover? Of course, there are some days when I wish that some bored student would invent an ingenious map that charts every change being made to the castle as it occurs; but alas, none has yet, and I'm sure that if anyone ever did, it would be used only for the utmost mischief, like sneaking to Honeydukes via secret passageways, or tracking friends and foes through the castle.'

It being late August, the students were still away, probably packing their trunks for the start of the new term. Albus always imagined that he would enjoy the quiet of summer in the castle – more time for research, he always told himself – but the productivity that he always anticipated upon the departure of his pupils never appeared in as much abundance as he wished. In part, he suspected, it was because the vast majority of his peers also left for the summer, to conduct research abroad or to visit family and friends; it was much harder to think up innovative ideas without constant inspiration from daily staff room conversations with the preeminent experts in their own respective academic circles.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, why don't you go on holiday as well, then, Albus?' Galatea had told him countless times as May warmed into June. 'You might gain some inspiration from going abroad… maybe the problem you're destined to solve is waiting for you across the Channel somewhere, or even further afield!'

Albus had always politely thanked her, but declined. Truth be told, he was happiest at Hogwarts. Notwithstanding the mysterious Petrification attacks of the previous year, he felt safer on the grounds of the castle than anywhere else on earth. Perhaps it was because he knew the good that he could do in ensuring that the school was as safe as possible for its students; perhaps it was because he knew that the scope of his ambition was constrained safely within academia, as it might not be in Westminster or other political fora. Whatever the case, Albus rarely ventured away from the castle unless he had to, even given the ease with which a wizard of his international stature and high Portkey clearance could potentially travel abroad.

'Do you know what exactly it is that Anikó's left you?' he asked Minerva, his mind half elsewhere. 'What sorts of memories?'

'Nothing pleasant, I know. Moody said something about them being from an ill Muggle whom Professor Bagolyi met and harboured before he died. These are his memories, as she remembers them.'

'They'll be doubly fragmented, then, and especially if she had to give them to you quickly, without much premeditation. Have you learned much about memory review, either here or at the Ministry?'

Minerva shook her head.

'There's no way to get a full picture of anyone else's memories,' explained Albus, 'especially given how subject to personal interpretation anyone's own memories are for themselves. When a giver of memories hasn't had time to fill in the gaps of someone else's memories, to the best of his or her abilities and postulations, then the best that you'll receive is mere flashes, suggestions, sometimes just images.'

'Will it be at all useful?'

'No doubt. Impressions can't deliver a narrative, but they can tell a story of their own. Part of your job as the receiver is to fill in some of the blanks yourself, you know.'

They had reached Albus's office door, and he held it open for Minerva and her baby. Albus had to confess to being rather pleased at the smile that crept over Minerva's face as she took stock of Fawkes dozing on his perch and the familiar whirring silver contraptions scattered across his shelves and desk.

'What's this?' she asked, stepping forward to examine a half-exposed mirror leaning demurely against the wall, a dusty tasselled velvet curtain draped from one corner.

'Nothing that you need to worry about,' Albus said, stepping forward and flicking the curtain back across the entire frame of the mirror, so that it obscured his view of a pair of familiar blue eyes shooting him a resentful glare over the shoulder of his own reflection.

Minerva opened her mouth as if to say something, but seemed to decide otherwise, and instead pushed the pram into a safe corner of the office.

'I have the memories here,' she said instead, pulling a small bottle from within her robes.

Albus nodded and Summoned the Pensieve from its cabinet with a wave of his wand.

'Would you like me to preview them first?' he said gently as the basin floated to a halt just above his desk and landed softly on the wooden surface with a dull thunk.

Minerva took a seat at the desk and shook her head, her jaw set determinedly.

'Thank you, Professor, but this is my job, and I'd better get used to it sooner rather than later.'

'As you wish,' sighed Albus, hoping that he had some chocolate stowed away somewhere.

Minerva uncorked the bottle and poured it in, shaking it slightly so that every last strand of thought dripped into the swirling surface of the Pensieve. She put the bottle aside and placed her hands facedown on the desk on either side of the Pensieve, exhaling deeply as she did.

'And I just lower my face in?' she asked with a touch of hesitation in her voice.

Albus nodded.

Minerva nodded once tersely, took a deep breath, and plunged her face forward.

Albus was far more used to using the Pensieve than he was watching others use it, and he quickly realised that it was far more frightening to be an onlooker. No more than four seconds had passed since she had dove into the Pensieve before her entire body clenched, her hands gripping into fists that continued to tighten. And then she began to shake uncontrollably. Perdita, who had been half asleep, quickly noticed her mother's apparent distress and began to cry. Fawkes opened one eye and began to trill in a low, anxious tone. After only a quarter of a minute, Albus could not bear the situation any longer.

'Minerva,' he said, putting a hand on her quivering shoulder and lifting her face out of the Pensieve.

'Oh, god,' she gasped, burying her face in her hands and letting out a sob.

Albus quickly moved around to the other side of his desk and rummaged in a drawer for a chocolate bar. Fortunately, given his constant state of anxiety these days, he quickly located three bars of Honeydukes Best, one of which he handed to Minerva.

'Can you talk about it?' he asked softly.

Minerva looked up, blinking tears out of her eyes. She took a deep breath that caught in her throat and shook her head. With a call as soft and rich as gold, Fawkes fluttered off his perch and landed softly on Minerva's shoulder, leaning his scarlet-plumed head against her own, which seemed to give her resolve to try to speak again.

'There were,' she croaked, and then took another shaky breath to steady herself. 'First there were men, starving men, tied together and lined up on the banks of a river, and the soldiers simply walked behind the row, with mallets, and with knives that were strapped to their hands, and… And there were women, too, with their breasts hacked off and bleeding and festering… And then screams from where the soldiers were… were burning people alive in brick buildings…'

She broke down again in tears, but took a small bite of chocolate and then, gently nudging Fawkes off her shoulder and onto the rim of the Pensieve, went to fetch Perdita from her pram. The need to calm her own child seemed to ground Minerva slightly, Albus noticed, as she sat down again, gently bouncing Perdita in her arms.

'The last memory was Professor Bagolyi's,' Minerva said, still sniffing back tears. 'It was her memory of first meeting this man. He was… more a ragged skeleton than a man. Completely disoriented, and clearly very ill. And he was so afraid of her, of everything, it seemed. He kept on repeating one word over and over again, begging her, it seemed, but I don't know what the word means.'

'What was it?'

'Jasenovac. I'll have to look it up. It must be Serbo-Croatian, or Romani.'

There was a long moment of silence. Perdita had stopped whimpering, now that she was being securely rocked, and Minerva took another bite of chocolate. Fawkes had been peering down into the Pensieve, his beak nearly brushing the milky surface of the basin, but as shapes began to twist and clarify within the mass of thoughts, he leapt from the edge of the Pensieve and, in a soft rustle of feathers, alit on his perch again.

'Professor,' said Minerva finally, 'she said something to me just before she died, Professor Bagolyi, I mean. She told me to tell you that "the web must not catch fire." Does that have anything to do with all of this?'

Albus smiled sadly.

'That is absolutely something about which you don't need to worry, Minerva, especially not directly after seeing things as traumatic as what you have just seen.'

'I'm sorry for how shaken I am right now, Professor. I never had… I really didn't expect it to be so jarring, seeing…'

'Neither did I. No-one does, I don't think. It's a more powerful and disturbing experience than I think anyone realises, before actually witnessing it themselves. I had seen people die before, of course, but it's quite different when you watch someone consciously and willingly and unconsentingly take the life of another. It shows human nature at its very darkest.'

'Have you ever killed someone?' Minerva asked seriously, watching him as she took another bite of chocolate.

Albus shuddered involuntarily. From the depths of his memory came Aberforth's screams of accusation, barely penetrating through the shock that had gripped his teenage self upon seeing Ariana's little body crumpled on the floor, smaller than it had been in life, her face frozen wide-eyed in a cry of distress.

'Yes,' he replied shortly. 'And if fate is at all kind to me, I will never have to do so again.'

'I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry.'

'If I hadn't wanted to answer, then I wouldn't have done so. I only hope that you and your colleagues at the Auror Office will be able to survive the duration of this war without having to take any lives yourself. It can be difficult to sleep at night.'

'Is that why you're watching us?' Minerva blurted.

Albus raised an eyebrow.

'Watching you?'

'In your mirror over there,' she clarified, gesturing with the Honeydukes towards the velvet-shrouded mirror against the wall. 'When I glanced at it, I saw my desk at the Auror Office reflected in it, and Akemi at her desk talking to Moody, and Fawcett and Donaghy and…'

'Very interesting,' Albus murmured, steepling his fingers with a smile. 'I wonder if you would still see the same if you took a look now?'

Minerva glanced at Albus sceptically, then put her chocolate down, rose with Perdita in her arms, and crossed to the other side of the room. With a tug, she pulled the velvet curtain from the mirror and looked in.

'And please don't feel obligated to tell me what it is you see,' Albus told her before she could speak. 'Although if it is still the Ministry, I would be curious to know, just for the sake of comparison.'

'Not the Ministry,' said Minerva in a constricted voice, draping the curtain back over the mirror. 'I don't suppose it tells the future?'

'Only if we all are given the power to make our dreams come true.'

'Heaven forbid,' laughed Minerva mirthlessly. 'My dreams are nothing but nightmares of late, what with all the news Moody has me reading.'

'Do you need a sleeping potion? I can see if Madam Malus has any on hand…'

'No, no,' insisted Minerva, waving her hand, 'I can always ask my… I'm fine.'

'If you say so.' Albus paused. 'Would you be upset if I asked Alastor to pass along your reports to him? It will be his decision entirely to say whether or not that's too far outside of Ministry protocol, but if you would prefer that I didn't ask…'

'No, please, go ahead,' said Minerva wearily. 'I haven't been writing much down for him in paragraph form; he prefers me to tell him things, and let him know if I've put together any connections, rather than read lengthy reports. But if he says it's fine, I can send you copies of my notes.'

'Thank you. That will be very helpful, indeed. More chocolate?'

'No, thank you.' Minerva glanced at the clock on the wall. 'I might try to catch the early train back into town. Perhaps I'm being silly, but I suddenly would much rather be home before dark, even with the wards.'

'Wards?' repeated Albus, frowning.

'Yes, the Ministry's augmented magical security around our house, ever since Professor Bagolyi's death. They still haven't caught her murderer, and they're afraid that he may have overheard Akemi shout our address into the Floo network.' Minerva smiled weakly. 'What an insane world we live in.'

'Indeed.' Albus frowned. 'If I were you, I would consider moving elsewhere, Minerva. At least until the war is over.'

'If the war is ever over,' Minerva responded bleakly, putting Perdita back into her pram. 'Good heavens, I've become such a pessimist, and I'm barely a year out of school.'

'Just remember that there is also much good in the world, and many good people, too,' Albus reminded her gently. 'And if anything is ever troubling you, anything at all, no matter how trivial it may seem, I will always be more than happy to offer my advice, or even just to listen.'

'Thank you, Professor,' said Minerva with a hesitant smile. 'I can get back to Hogsmeade fine on my own. I'll send you my reports, once I've heard from Moody that he's spoken to you and gives his consent.'

'I'll send him an owl post haste. Thank you, Minerva.'

'Of course.'

'And you're quite sure you're feeling completely well?'

'Yes.' Minerva took a deep breath and looked her erstwhile professor in the eye. 'Well, no, but I'll manage. When I finally get back to my workplace full-time, Professor, I intend to be very, very good at my job. And if that means learning to deal with reality sooner rather than later, then I can and will do that.'

'So I can see,' replied Albus, 'although there should never be shame in taking time to recover when one needs it.'

'I'll eat my chocolate on the train,' Minerva said with mild indignation, picking up her half-eaten bar and stuffing it into her robes.

'As well you should,' laughed Albus with a worried smile. He rose and held the door for Minerva as she wheeled the pram out. 'Have a safe trip home, and do stay in touch.'

'I will. Thank you, Professor.'

Albus watched her until she and the baby disappeared round the corner of the corridor, then shut his office door and pulled the velvet curtain off of the Mirror.

There stood his reflection, as it always did. And there beside him were Aberforth, who never acknowledged his presence even when they were in the same room, and Ariana, bright-eyed and inquisitive as she had been before the attack. For a moment, Albus felt something lighten within himself, certain that he had finally escaped. But suddenly, from behind his own tall reflection stepped that of a handsome, blond boy, who winked at Albus with a smile that stopped just short of his intense gaze.

'So I'm not free of you yet, Gellert,' muttered Albus to himself, casting the velvet curtain back across the Mirror, a single tear wending its way slowly down the contours of his crooked nose.

'Your hero, Yukawa, is driving me quite mad,' grumbled Moody, loping into the office and up to where Akemi and Juilan Boot were finalising a wager on whether the Americans would beat the Canadians in their Quidditch match in Toronto that weekend.

'Oh?'

'Albus Percival Wulfric bloody Brian Dumbledore,' snarled Moody, crumpling a piece of parchment in his fist and dropping it onto Akemi's desk.

'Really trips off the tongue, that,' smirked Boot.

'Shut it, Boot,' replied Moody, then lowered his voice. 'Do you two think I should give him access to some of our office's reports?'

Akemi and Boot swapped a glance.

'Does he have a security clearance?' asked Akemi in a barely-pitched whisper.

'He doesn't need a clearance.'

'Yes, he does, Moody,' replied Akemi with quiet earnestness. 'Really, it's against the law to give classified intelligence to someone who doesn't have one, no matter how important he is.'

'It's not classified intelligence,' snapped Moody in an undertone. 'It's all the notes from the open news sources that McGonagall's been reviewing.'

'Cunningham,' responded both Akemi and Boot automatically, more out of habit than out of any expectation that Moody would ever respect that Minerva had a married name.

'And what's the problem, then?' added Boot.

'The problem is that the Minister for Magic will have my head on a plate if he knows that I gave Dumbledore anything,' growled Moody. 'Man's incredibly paranoid about anything from government offices going anywhere, even public information going to people who we know to be loyal citizens. It'll be my head on a platter if he gets word of this, or worse, my job going to some blithering idiot like that Bartemius Crouch git.'

'No-one would be that stupid,' Boot reassured him quietly while Akemi stifled a snort of laughter with her hand. 'Heaven forbid that that self-righteous sycophant rise anywhere high enough in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to matter.'

'Ah, so more's the pity that the Minister prefers that sort of Ministry drone,' sighed Moody, crossing his arms and sitting grumpily on the edge of Akemi's desk. 'No doubt the Minister's staff have already got their eyes trained on me as a rules-dodging rabble-rouser.'

'I wonder why,' Akemi remarked drily.

'Quiet, you,' growled Moody, waving his hand at his two bemused underlings, his volume escalating with his irritation. 'If only there were half-sensible people around here anymore who cared more about getting the job done than how exactly it'd gotten done… if Aeneas McGonagall were well enough to be back on the job, I'm sure he'd…'

'What would my dad do, Moody?' asked a voice from the entrance of the office.

'Minerva!' exclaimed Akemi, leaping up from her desk and rushing over to help Minerva manoeuvre the baby's pram over the carpet and around the Exploding Snap cards that Fawcett and Boot had left strewn across it. 'And you've brought in little Perdita, too!'

'Merlin's beard,' remarked Boot, waving his fingers at Perdita with a ridiculous smile stretching across his face.

'McGonagall, what the hell are you doing here?' Moody was trying his hardest to sound annoyed, but failing ever so slightly. 'Didn't I tell you that bringing a baby into the Ministry is an incredibly risky, stupid, foolish…'

'Nice to see you, too,' she retorted, smiling through what Moody suddenly perceived was exhaustion. 'Could I have a private word?'

'Only if you promise to get out of here immediately after,' he grumbled, gesturing her through his office door and closing it behind him, leaving Akemi to look after the baby and Boot to look on in bemusement.

'You were right, something is seriously wrong on the continent,' said Minerva without preamble.

Moody was on the verge of snidely pointing out that there did happen to be a war on the continent, after all, but stopped when he saw the look on Minerva's face, and then realised why she was at the Ministry, as well as Anikó's descriptions of the types of memories that she had entrusted the Ministry to review.

'I looked through Professor Bagolyi's memories,' Minerva said quietly, 'and it seems that there is systematic detention and slaughter of civilians occurring, which I'm sure she told you. Civilians, Moody, not combatants. Men, women, even children, being rounded up and butchered like animals, and not by hysterical pogroms or mobs, either, but by organised and terrifyingly efficient militias.'

'And this was in Serbia, or wherever Anikó said the bloke was from?' asked Moody, frowning.

'She said he was Croatian. I couldn't understand what language they were speaking; it probably was somewhere in Croatia, or Serbia. The point is, who's to say that this kind of behaviour isn't widespread across the Balkans, or even other parts of Europe? The Ministry should be doing a full-fledged investigation into these sorts of flagrant abuses of power, undercover, if need be. I mean, to start with, we know there are ghettos in Warsaw, in Budapest, in Prague…'

'Wait a minute, McGonagall,' said Moody, his frown deepening as he held up a hand, 'we know that there are Muggle ghettos in those cities, and you know as well as I do that the Ministry is not going to authorise us to act unless there are wizards or witches directly involved. Can you prove that there were any magical persons being persecuted in this, what would you call it, this camp?'

'Well, no, but…'

'Then there's nothing that we can officially do about it, not using Ministry funding or personnel. Especially if they're not British citizens, which are technically the people whose well-being we should be prioritising…'

'I don't care if they're Muggles,' snapped Minerva, her voice rising, 'and I don't care if they're not British citizens, they're being brutally murdered by their own governments! It's unconscionable, Moody! We have to do something.'

'We do,' said Moody, nodding, 'and it's to stop this war as soon as possible. But we can't send a rescue mission off to Eastern Europe to rescue Muggles, not using Ministry resources.'

'I have family over there, Moody!' fumed Minerva. 'My sister-in-law is in Prague, probably crammed into a corner of that ghetto, unable to communicate with us at all because of government restrictions…'

'I said, McGonagall, not using Ministry resources.'

Minerva paused and stared at Moody, who gave her a very significant look and then glanced meaningfully around the walls of his office. Minerva nodded and then slowly rubbed her eyes, a sigh of comprehension escaping her lips.

'Sorry.'

'You seem exhausted, by the way,' he added unhelpfully.

'I've seen some things I can't very well un-see, Moody,' she responded simply.

'Hm, well.' Moody cleared his throat and shot Minerva a glance. 'Fancy a bit of fresh air? Might wake you up a bit.'

'I… yes, why not.'

'Leave the kid for the moment,' Moody muttered to Minerva as they left through the other door of Moody's office. 'She'll be fine, so long as Yukawa keeps an eye on her and doesn't let Boot drop her on her head.'

Within three minutes, the two were walking along the Thames near the Muggle Parliament, clothes discreetly Transfigured to those of Muggles.

'You don't really think that anyone is spying on the Auror Office, do you?' Minerva asked in a low voice.

'One can never be too careful,' responded Moody, shooting a suspicious glance at the suited businessmen passing them on the street. 'Constant vigilance, McGonagall. It turns out that the Minister for Magic's been implementing a lot of unwarranted surveillance all around the Ministry, ever since the insider attack. He's been suspicious of everyone in the bloody Government, and fanatical about trying to control information as tightly as possible, giving access to only people directly employed by the Ministry. There's been talk of prosecuting people who feed Ministry-authored information of any type to people outside of the Ministry, even information that isn't at all secret or classified. So my main concern is that the Minister's office will start listening in too closely on discussions of our less-orthodox practices and find them to be objectionable, even if perfectly legal. Like giving Dumbledore access to your notes. Or having you act as an unofficial researcher at all, actually.'

'You will do it, though, won't you? Moody, Professor Dumbledore has a holistic understanding of the situation across Europe that I can't even begin to imagine developing on my own, both within the Muggle and magical worlds. I'm simply writing down names and dates, but he knows enough about history and recent politics to be able to tell me why this is all happening.'

'I know.' Moody sighed. 'The Minister won't be pleased at all, but all's fair in love and war, and I've got to use the best analysis that I can get, regardless of where it comes from.'

'And about the Muggles…'

'Yeah.' Moody shot her a glance. 'I'm sorry about your husband's family, McGonagall. You haven't heard from them?'

'His sister and I used to write each other fairly regularly. She's a few years younger than me. But then her letters just stopped coming. I don't know if she even continued to receive mine.' Minerva chewed her lip for a moment, deep in thought, and then looked at Moody resolutely. 'Well, Moody, as you mentioned, I don't technically work for you right now. I'm not Ministry resources.'

'For the moment.' Moody scratched his head, staring out over the river. 'But I'm not going to let you do anything rash, either, McGonagall, however much you want to Portkey to Berlin right this instant and hex Himmler to smithereens.'

'Hitler, Moody,' Minerva corrected him. 'Hitler's the Muggle Head of Government. Himmler is one of his cronies.'

'I can never keep them straight, they're all uniformed bastards who need to be stopped,' growled Moody. He sighed. 'Look, I promise you that, within a few months, we'll find a way to get someone to go do a bit of investigative work on the continent…'

'Me, you mean?'

'For Christ's sake, McGonagall, no,'snapped Moody. 'You do have a small child, if you didn't remember!'

'You can't spare anyone else, and I'm the only person in London who's been trained through the Auror Office's protocols and who no-one will miss if absent,' Minerva argued.

'Absolutely not,' muttered Moody to himself.

'Moody, what if the perfect opportunity arises? The sort of chance where I'd be able to go in for only a few days and look at things in a relatively safe situation, and just get a feel for what's happening? I promise I wouldn't go rampaging about stupidly, trying to bring people to justice on my own, and it would make me indescribably more useful as an analyst, you have to admit.'

'McGonagall…'

'Please, Moody, promise me that if that sort of chance comes up, you won't tell me I can't go. Just promise me that, and I swear I won't push you on the issue again, unless the perfect scenario arises.'

'Fine.'

'Really?'

'I mean, if the perfect scenario arose… Merlin, let's discuss it later,' sighed Moody, clearly torn. 'In the meantime, though, I need you to send Dumbledore copies of your notes, in as discreet a manner as possible. Don't put your name on them, or any other form of communication sent with them. He'll know who they're from, and that way, your identity will be safe, in case they're intercepted by any unsavoury characters, or worse, our Government'

'I'll do so tonight, although I should add that it's perfectly legal if I send Dumbledore anything, Moody,' Minerva added. 'If I'm not being directly hired by the Ministry at present, then you technically have no responsibility over who else gets the information that I'm compiling, even if the Ministry is also using it as a resource for its intelligence.'

Moody shook his head admiringly.

'You'd better stop saying things like that, McGonagall, or I might just not hire you back when you're ready to re-enter the workforce.'

'And you'd better stop saying things like that, Moody, or I might just not want to come back when I'm ready to re-enter the workforce.'

'Lies,' scoffed Moody as they headed back towards the Ministry. 'Look at you, McGonagall, I tell you to put some space between you and this pit of vipers that we call our Government, and you simply can't bear to stay away.' He scowled. 'Really, do keep clear of Westminster as much as possible, though. I waste far too much time and energy keeping an eye on Yukawa and the boys to make sure nothing happens to them, and I don't need you adding to the stress…'

Minerva laughed sympathetically, and thanked Moody for holding open the door to the enchanted telephone booth that would take her back down to the Atrium.

Given how earnest Moody had been about her staying away from the Ministry, it came as quite a surprise to Minerva when she received an urgent message from him just a few days later, demanding that she meet him in St James's Park within the hour.

'I take it something must be up?' asked her father from his hospital bed, smiling bemusedly as Minerva frantically gathered her things together. 'That owl was ready to break through the window…'

'Moody at his most hysterical,' she replied, looking around for where she had left the Polish newspaper that she had been reading in the waiting room of St Mungo's.

'Oh dear,' sighed Aeneas, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. 'Try to stay out of the line of fire, then.'

'I don't think it's anything that I've done, Dad,' said Minerva pensively, pausing for a moment. 'It might be… well, we'll see. I'll let you know when I find out. He says to come meet him without telling anyone, but…'

'My lips are sealed. And, incidentally, give my regards to Alastor,' said Aeneas tranquilly, raising his hand slightly in a wave (he had only just regained some slight control over his right arm).

'Bye, Dad,' called Minerva as she rushed out into the waiting room. 'Mum, I have to run, something work-related, but I'll be back as soon as possible. Can you watch the baby for now?'

'I suppose so,' replied Alexia, betraying only a moment of surprise, 'but I was planning to go back to Scotland tonight, so if you could let me know when you'll be back…?'

'Couldn't say, Mum, sorry,' said Minerva, giving her mother a quick peck on the cheek. 'Probably an hour? I'll try to be back before she wakes up – see you later.'

And with that, she rushed out the door. Alexia shook her head and pushed the pram to the door of her husband's hospital room.

'Well, no one can ever accuse Minerva of not being your daughter,' she sighed. 'Did you see how eager she was to get back to the Ministry?'

'To be fair, if I knew that Alastor Moody would bark a bit louder at me for every minute that I was late, I would hurry, too,' replied Aeneas evenly, who wouldn't have hesitated an instant to confessing pride for the fact that his daughter took her work so seriously.

For all she took her work seriously, though, Minerva was far later in getting to St James's Park than she intended. Apparition was impossible from inside St Mungo's; there were too many Muggles on the streets surrounding the Hospital for her to risk one of them seeing her Apparate; and as Minerva technically had not taken her Apparition exam, she opted to deal with racing through the streets in a comparatively restrictive Muggle dress, rather than risk injuring herself or anyone else through an incorrect transfer. Moody was impatiently checking his watch when Minerva arrived panting at the park and spotted him seated on a bench in a business suit, attempting to feign watching the swans on the pond.

'There you are, I was afraid you'd been attacked,' he grumbled as she sat down on the bench beside him. 'Code word?'

'Cockroach Cluster,' she gasped, repeating what Moody had written her in his message. 'What's so urgent?'

'We're catching a Portkey to Hogsmeade in approximately one minute,' he responded out of the corner of his mouth, glancing about to ensure that no one was watching them as Minerva sat down next to him.

'A Portkey to Hogsmeade?' Minerva coughed back at him, still slightly winded. 'Moody, I just left my daughter with my mum, I thought I'd be back in an hour or so, I didn't realise you were…'

'Sorry, sorry,' snapped Moody, not sounding sorry at all. 'I'll apologise to your mum for you, McGonagall, if it will do any good, but frankly, I think that national security trumps inconveniencing family, for the moment. Oh, good, nobody watching…'

'I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on?' Minerva asked him, annoyed. 'What's this about national security? And where's this Portkey we're supposed to be taking?'

The next moment, with a lurch, the bench on which they were sitting jolted them through the air, landing them in Hogsmeade next to the Hog's Head.

'In here,' muttered Moody, dragging Minerva to her feet by one elbow and holding open the door of the pub for her. She entered, shaking her head in exasperation.

Minerva could not recall ever having been in the Hog's Head before; it was a dingy, dusty establishment that, though surely not more than a few decades old, appeared nearly completely neglected. The stale air smelled faintly of mouldy straw, causing Minerva's nose to wrinkle reflexively in distaste. A lanky man, with stringy hair that might have been a fading chestnut in better lighting, was absent-mindedly wiping the insides of several tarnished tankards behind a spattered counter.

'We're here to speak with Albus,' Moody muttered to the man.

'And you are?' replied the man insolently.

'Alastor Moody, Head of the Auror Office at the Ministry,' recited Moody impatiently, then lowered his voice and added, 'Cockroach Cluster.'

The bartender nodded and turned on his heel, leaving his filthy cleaning rag on the counter as he strode into the back room.

'Is it sanitary to eat anything served here?' Minerva murmured.

'I wouldn't count on it,' Moody grumbled back, 'but Aberforth probably isn't expecting us to eat anything, anyway.'

Minerva presumed that Aberforth was the name of the grouchy bartender, who looked oddly familiar, although perhaps that was simply because she had seen him around the village during her years at Hogwarts.

'Take a seat,' grunted Aberforth, re-entering the room without looking at them. 'He'll be here soon.'

Minerva and Moody glanced at each other, then down at the bench behind them, and, tacitly deciding it was clean enough to suffice, sat. Not three minutes later, Albus Dumbledore strode through the door behind the bar, looking laughably out of place in brilliant teal robes that practically glowed in the dimness of the pub.

'Thank you, Aberforth,' he said, smiling briefly at the bartender. 'May we use your back room?'

Aberforth shrugged brusquely with one shoulder, his back turned towards the Transfiguration professor as he resumed his unproductive cleaning. Dumbledore seemed to take this as an affirmative and gestured to the others to follow him into the cramped back room of the inn, where Minerva and Moody settled themselves onto a lumpy couch that might have once been pinstriped but was now a worn grey.

'I apologise for insisting that you come here on such short notice,' began Dumbledore gravely, seating himself on the edge of a battered old chair. 'But upon receiving Minerva's first reports, I decided that it would be best to speak to you in person about some of their content, as any other sort of communications might have been intercepted.'

'You're sure that this room is secure, Professor?' asked Minerva, frowning.

'As sure as I am that anywhere is secure anymore,' replied Dumbledore solemnly. 'The greatest advantage that we have at present is secrecy. The suddenness of your departure from London will have made it difficult for anyone to have followed you, and no one could have seen me enter this room, so with a few precautions…'

He waved his wand towards the closed door, sealing the room off from eavesdroppers on the other side. Minerva caught Moody nodding grimly next to her, out of the corner of her eye, and could have sworn that she heard him mumble, 'Constant vigilance!' under his breath.

'Minerva,' Dumbledore said, turning towards her and speaking in a low voice despite his precautions, 'I need you to tell me everything that you read about these events in Poland.'

Minerva blinked, and was about to ask what events Dumbledore meant, when he pressed into her hand a page of her own notes. Polish intellectuals (Arithmancy scholar Andrzej Czarownik) stopped in Łódź; Portkey to the United States detected by government surveillance; subjected to the Cruciatus Curse?; Mariola Berło tortured to death? (not seen since)…

'What do you…?'

'Where their Portkey was going,' said Dumbledore simply. 'Do you remember where in the United States? Did any of the reports say? New York? Washington? Chicago?'

Minerva furrowed her brow.

'No, none of those. I don't remember a specific city being mentioned, and I can't remember the name of the state, it wasn't one that I'd heard much about…'

'It wasn't Tennessee, was it?'

'Yes,' said Minerva; then, with increased certainty, 'yes, it was.'

'I see,' breathed Dumbledore. 'And how many people were there, precisely, including Mr Czarownik and Ms Berło?'

'Five of them, if I remember correctly. I'll have to go review the article for the names of the other three.'

'And no news as to what happened to any of them?'

'I believe that all of them were imprisoned by the authorities for attempting to exit the country on an unauthorised Portkey. Except for Ms Berło, I don't think anyone yet knows what happened to her…'

'Probably dead, those bastards,' growled Moody. 'Figures that they'd murder the only Muggle-born of the group.'

'You knew her?' Minerva asked.

'She was a leading expert in Defence Against the Dark Arts in Poland,' nodded Moody. 'Very feisty little lady, Mariola was. Wicked sense of humour. I hope she took some of her attackers out with her.'

'We don't know if she's actually dead, Alastor,' said Dumbledore firmly. 'If I were her, and I had escaped, I would lie low and let everyone speculate as to the worst.'

'Yeah, well, the worst seems to be the most likely outcome to these scenarios, nowadays,' sniffed Moody.

'I'll keep an eye on any related news,' Minerva offered, feeling less than helpful.

'Please do,' said Dumbledore, 'and especially on events such as this.'

He turned over the paper in Minerva's hands and tapped one phrase scrawled in her handwriting: Magical shipment confiscated by German Government near Gdansk.

'Was there any more information as to what this shipment was?' Dumbledore asked, his face deadly serious. 'Anything at all?'

'Nothing,' replied Minerva with certainty, for she had been very annoyed herself about the lack of clarity on that point.

'Very well.' Dumbledore sighed and sat back down on the edge of his chair. 'Minerva, I want you to promise that you'll keep an eye on Poland for me, and especially this intercepted magical shipment. Any information relating to any of these incidents that we've just discussed, I would prefer that you communicate to me in person, rather than by writing. If you could send me an owl asking to meet the instant you find anything that seems of any importance, I will be happy to travel to London as soon as possible to meet with you. Can you promise to do that for me?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Thank you, and we'll be in close communication, I'm sure.' Dumbledore turned to Moody. 'Alastor, I need a word in private. Minerva, if you wouldn't mind stepping back into the main area of the pub? And I beg you,' he added, without a hint of laughter in his blue eyes, 'to curb any impulse to eavesdrop, however intriguing private conversations may be by their very nature.'

Minerva nodded and quietly left the room, wandering aimlessly back into the main area of the pub. It was still dark, still dingy, still dirty, and still occupied by only the disgruntled bartender.

'That was quick,' he sniffed.

'Yes,' Minerva replied, unsure of what else to say. She seated herself politely on the passably-clean bench that she and Moody had previously identified and tried to occupy her attention with the uninspiring décor of the pub.

'You a former Hogwarts student?' the man asked gruffly. 'One of Albus's little Gryffindors?'

'I… yes,' answered Minerva, startled. She never would have expected someone who used Dumbledore's given name to spit it with such venom.

Aberforth nodded, a bitter smile twisting his mouth. Then he dropped his rag and leaned over the counter towards Minerva.

'Listen, I know I don't seem like a credible source of advice, by any means,' he said with a self-loathing little chuckle. 'But if you value your happiness and sense of self-worth, stay far away from Albus Dumbledore.'

Minerva stared at him.

'I know, I sound crazy for not being one of his ubiquitous, obsequious hangers-on,' continued Aberforth. 'I mean, look at everyone else in Britain. They admire him. They trust him. They all think that he has their best interests at heart, and that with his cleverness he'll find a way to stop that German bastard and all the chaos he's causing. Fools, all. You may think that Dumbledore cares about you, but he has the power to hurt you worse than you can possibly know.'

'I'm sure he does, but the Albus Dumbledore that I know would never do that,' Minerva replied evenly.

'Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't, not intentionally,' laughed Aberforth mirthlessly. 'But see, here's the problem: You, and the rest of the world, all believe that he's some sort of demi-god, some sort of perfect being, who can solve all of your problems. I'm sure that Albus won't mean to betray you when he does, but that's just it. One of these days, you're going to realise that he's just a man, with all of the weaknesses of any other man on this earth, and believe me, it will be harder to forgive those human frailties than it would be to forgive any sort of intentional betrayal…'

'McGonagall, you'd better still be here,' barked Moody from down the hall. Minerva leapt to her feet, shaken, as the disgruntled Auror stomped into the pub.

'Everything alright?' she asked him, avoiding looking at Aberforth, who had gone back to smearing grease around the inside of his tankards with his dirty rag.

Moody opened his mouth, glanced at the bartender, and snapped his jaw shut angrily.

'I don't know why that man doesn't just run the entire Ministry,' he grumbled, putting a hand on Minerva's shoulder and steering her out of the pub. 'He just gave me information about one of our top secret programmes that I don't think most people who should know about it have figured out yet…' Moody paused as he noticed Minerva waiting patiently for further explanation. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake, McGonagall, I am not telling you what this programme is. It's far beyond your security level, which means that it's definitely not legal for me to tell you about it.'

'You can't, but if Professor Dumbledore…'

'He won't, either,' Moody insisted with grim finality. 'He knows as well as I do that knowing anything about it whatsoever could put you and your family in incredible danger.'

'Speaking of my family, Moody, how are we getting back to London? Another Portkey?'

'Didn't have time to set a return Portkey, especially since I didn't know how long we'd be. Can't you Apparate?'

'Not legally, and certainly not all the way back to London. I'd have thought you'd have known.'

'Damn.' Moody scratched his head. 'Hadn't counted on that. I'd offer to have you go side-by-side, but I accidentally splinched my niece that way last summer. Not pretty. She's fine now, and a Healer told me that I can avoid doing it in the future by trying to calm down before Apparating anywhere, but… well, given how often I'm calm, I've been hesitant about risking it since. Can you take the train?'

'Moody, that takes hours.'

'You'll get home before dark,' said Moody unsympathetically, waving a hand at her impatiently. 'Look, I've got to be back at the Ministry in five minutes for a meeting that you absolutely cannot attend, and in all fairness, it would be an excellent thing if no-one knew we had even met Dumbledore just now, so you probably shouldn't come with me back to Westminster. Unless you can bully your way into using someone's Floo access, the train's the best I can do for you.'

As Minerva did not feel inclined to bully anyone into giving her Floo access, she instead accepted a few Sickles from Moody and boarded the next train back to London (which, fortunately, passed through Hogsmeade within minutes). Along the ride back, she continually nodded off, head bumping against the pane of her window and waking her from half-formed nightmares. Half an hour outside of London, the soft grey blanket of clouds overhead shattered into showers that mercilessly battered the already lush fields surrounding the train track.

By the time Minerva emerged from the Tube station in Stratford, drenched and exhausted as dusk fell, nothing sounded more appealing than a mug of hot tea and a good night's rest. The streets were sparsely populated with local Muggles, all a uniform grey in their war-rationed clothing and the dullness of the rain. Minerva walked as quickly as she could, clutching her Muggle hat to her head and cursing the rain for fogging her glasses. She slipped behind an enchanted wall and onto her magical cul-de-sac – and stopped dead in her tracks.

The door to her house had been blasted off its hinges and lay in the middle of the street, charred and gouged with what looked like magical scorch marks. Two older Aurors, both of whom Minerva vaguely recognised from the Ministry, stood over it, deep in some grave conversation. She jumped when she felt a hand fall on her shoulder, in part because the dizzying shock that had suddenly seized her had momentarily made her forget that she had a corporeal self at all.

'Thank goodness, here you are,' breathed Amelia Bones into her ear, propelling Minerva forward at a brisk pace. 'We tried to send an owl your way, but you didn't respond…'

'What's going on? Where's my husband?' Minerva demanded, now acutely aware that her heart was pounding almost impossibly fast.

'He's here, it's fine, no-one's hurt,' Bones reassured her as they entered the house past the shattered front window. 'And your mum's here, too, with the baby. You were the one who had everyone worried.'

Bones's point was proven moments later when they entered the kitchen, and everyone seated around the kitchen table immediately sprang to their feet.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Minerva!'

'Where were you?!'

'We were all fearing the worst…'

'Why didn't you answer our owls?'

'I'm fine,' Minerva reassured them, sitting down and letting Jeff press her hand in his. 'I… I unexpectedly had to rush out of town, to take care of something for work. And it took considerably longer to get back than I'd expected, that's all.'

'Well, you could have at least let us know…'

'I'm sorry, Mum, I would have, I'll try not to let it happen again.'

'Was this Moody's fault?' asked Akemi, scowling. 'Because he's been out of the office all afternoon, and if he's the one who's been communicating poorly about who's going where…'

'Not to mention, he can't just spontaneously tell you to go places on a moment's notice!' interrupted Augusta indignantly. 'What about little Perdita here? What would have happened if your mum hadn't been conveniently placed to take care of her?'

Minerva opened her mouth to argue that she wouldn't have gone if it hadn't been something seemingly important and infinitely more interesting than anything else she could have been doing with her day, but the words that came out of her mouth instead were, 'Is anyone going to tell me why my front door is lying in the middle of the street?'

'Someone tried to break into your house,' replied Bones. 'It triggered the magical wards, which alerted us, but the invader managed to resist them long enough to have gotten inside and then escape. No sign of whoever it was by the time we got here. Some of our forensics experts are out there right now, trying to identify the type of magic used to resist the wards for so long. We've checked the place over for lingering hexes or other traps, and everything's clear.'

'Our worst fear was that you had come home for some reason or another during the break-in, and confronted the perpetrator,' said Jeff quietly, his grip on Minerva's hand tightening ever so slightly.

'I don't suppose there was any indication as to why anyone wanted to break into our house?' Minerva asked, her mouth slightly dry. 'I mean, couldn't this have been a common burglary?'

'Very unlikely.' Bones set her jaw grimly. 'After all, why would a common thief, upon setting off powerful magical wards, resist the wards and try to fight his way inside, rather than flee? No, whoever did this was looking for something, or someone.'

A moment of silence descended upon the table.

'Did… did the intruder take anything?' asked Pomona finally in a timid voice. 'Or, more importantly, was there anything that they might have found to be of interest?'

'Not that I know of,' said Jeff slowly, 'and frankly, I'm not sure that we have much worth the taking, although… Minerva?'

For Minerva had risen to her feet very suddenly and, disengaging her hand from her husband's, dashed to the living room, with the others trailing behind her in bewilderment. They found her staring at the side table next to the sofa, one fist pressed anxiously to her mouth.

'Your research,' muttered Jeff as he wrapped an arm around her, likewise eyeing the empty surface on which were usually stacked various newspapers, notepads, and the Translating Trifocals.

Minerva only nodded, a hundred terrifying premonitions rushing through her at once. Even if this had been a random break-in, conducted by someone trying to steal back Professor Bagolyi's memories or simply to investigate where she had been headed when murdered, the intruder now had clear evidence that she, Minerva, was collecting open source intelligence from continental Europe. And that could only increase the possibility of the next break-in being intentional…

'Damn it,' said Bones finally. 'Top security for you and your family, then, McGonagall. Unsearchable housing, Concealment Charms, maybe even a Fidelius Charm? I'll talk to Moody first thing in the morning about what resources the Auror Office has, and I promise we'll do whatever we can…'

'But how can you justify it to the rest of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?' asked Minerva weakly, grateful suddenly for the physical support that Jeff's arm was giving her. 'I'm not a Ministry employee right now, and if Moody had to explain to them what was taken, why it's dangerous, and why the Ministry owes me anything for the danger that it's put me in, he could lose his job…'

Bones scowled, and swore under her breath.

'Well, we're all here for you, for whatever that's worth,' Pomona insisted after a long moment.

'Absolutely,' Augusta chimed in, as Akemi nodded solemnly. 'Anything that we can do to help, we're here for you both.'

Minerva smiled falteringly at her friends' staunch loyalty, but felt a sinking terror in her stomach nonetheless. A gust of wind chilled by the rain whipped in through the shattered window, raising goose pimples along her arms and wafting in damply the residual reek of charred wood. With a shiver, she stared out into the dull, grey, rainy evening and realised that, in spite of her steadfast friends and the warmth of her husband's arm around her, she had never felt more vulnerable and isolated before in her life.

'I'm so sorry,' she told Jeff later that night, after everyone else had gone home except for the two Aurors who were now standing watch outside the magically-repaired window and door. It was past midnight, but Perdita had only just fallen asleep, having been especially fretful from all of the tension in the air.

'For what?' he insisted. 'For trying to make the world a better place?'

'For putting you in danger,' she snapped. 'You and our daughter, and probably all of our friends…'

'Stop it, Minerva,' Jeff said firmly. 'You haven't done anything wrong, other than scare us all half to death earlier today.'

Minerva sighed and rolled over so that her back was facing Jeff, trying to hold back tears and failing.

'I just feel so helpless,' she sighed softly. 'Like there's a huge target painted on my back for everyone to see. And I hate myself for marking you with it by association.'

'Well, living with a target painted on my back is nothing that I haven't experienced my entire life, anyway,' Jeff pointed out, an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice. 'I'll be fine, Minerva. Just promise me that you'll be fine, too.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' she demanded, rolling over to face him again.

'I mean that you should keep helping Moody try to end this war,' he said simply. 'It's not like we'll be any better off than we are now, if you stop. But you have to promise me that you won't do anything rash, in a fit of unwarranted guilt or an impulse to correct problems that weren't your doing.'

'You sound just like Moody,' grumbled Minerva.

'Then Moody's right,' Jeff insisted. 'In a purely logistical sense, you're much more use to the war effort alive and conducting research than captured or dead. And, on a personal level, I don't know what we would do without you.'

Minerva sniffed and wiped her cheek brusquely with the heel of her hand as Jeff gathered her to him. She wished she could forget everything for just a moment and simply drift into sleep, but she felt completely on edge, as if Dark wizards would come bursting in through the door of her bedroom at any moment. She imagined the scenario briefly, as if it were playing out before her on a Muggle film reel: what spells she would use to repel the attackers, how quickly she could move to shield Jeff, or whether it would be quicker to leap out of bed and position herself between the door and Perdita's crib, how many opponents she felt she could hold off at once…

'You know, I would kill to defend you or Perdita,' she said, surprising herself with the certainty with which she felt this. 'I don't say that lightly, and I hope it never comes to that, but it's absolutely true.'

'And I would die to defend you or Perdita,' Jeff answered seriously, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

Minerva exhaled slowly, feeling increasingly certain that she would not sleep a wink that night.

'Don't,' she said quietly.

'Obviously, I hope it never comes to that, either, but…'

'I mean it, Jeff. If things go terribly wrong, I need you to promise me that you won't try to rescue me.'

Jeff stared at her.

'You do realise how much I love you, don't you?'

'I do, and that's precisely why I hope you can understand why it would kill me if anything happened to either of you, because of me.'

'I'm a Healer. It's my job to save people.'

'Doesn't everyone say that Healers should never try to save people whom they know personally, though? That too many emotions can potentially get in the way for them to do their job properly?'

'Well, then maybe the same rule should apply to Aurors and killing for people whom they love.' Jeff brushed a strand of hair out of Minerva's eyes. 'Honestly, we should try to get a few hours of sleep. I promise that everything will seem more manageable in the morning. Besides, we'll probably have to spend all day tomorrow moving house to goodness knows where, and you said you trusted those two Aurors outside to keep us safe for at least tonight.'

Minerva nodded. She didn't know Scrimgeour and Shacklebolt all that well, but they both had reputations as dependable and diligent Aurors, even though they were both only a few years older than her own unruly peers. Nonetheless, she was still amazed that Jeff was able to fall into a light sleep only a few minutes later, given that her own mind was still reeling. She lay awake for at least another quarter of an hour, listening to him breathing and watching the shadows of leaves sway in a patch of streetlight cast upon her ceiling, until she at last began to doze as well.

He never actually promised me anything, and I never actually promised him anything, either, Minerva reflected detachedly as she slipped into another night of uneasy dreams. But there would be time for that in the morning, too. She was certain of that, almost.