The Bride Cometh
by rogueinker
Disclaimer: JKR owns all HP characters. This work is fiction and meant for entertainment only.
Summary: After Voldemort's first fall, Dumbledore makes a fateful decision. He plans to take a wife. He enlists the help of his deputy. But Minerva has plans of her own.
Genre & Rating: G, Humor, really
In an office, high in a tower, two friends enjoy afternoon tea. After settling school business, the conversation turned to more personal matters.
"I should like very much to get married."
The tea cup hovered in the air, shaking slightly.
"With Voldemort gone, we are in a time of quiet contemplation."
The cup was firmly placed on its saucer by two slender hands.
"Companionship would be desirable and I must not forget friendship. That is vital."
A hand slid under the table curling into a fist. The other hand gripped the cup hard.
"It is not too late for children I think."
The cup was gripped more tightly, if that were possible.
"Perhaps, a little one to dandle on my knee in a year or so.
A fervent command given to still a trembling hand was disguised as a throat being cleared.
"I certainly cannot wait for Aberforth to continue the line, can I?"
The cup was carefully, so very carefully brought up to lips suddenly dry.
"I cannot wait any longer. Professor McGonagall?"
There was a positive sounding murmur from his companion.
"Would you help me select a bride?"
Silence.
"Professor?"
A glimpse of emerald robes disappeared beyond the door.
"There must be an emergency somewhere."
The next afternoon a gentle knock was laid upon a closed office door.
"May I come in?"
A tired voice bade enter.
"Our esteemed headmaster has asked me to inform you that he is healthy and functional. My examination proves -"
A flick of a wrist, a loud incantation and a piercing glare later, the woman found herself whisked out of the office with the door slammed in her face.
"Whatever is going on with you and Albus, Minerva, kindly leave me out of it."
The woman returned to her normal, orderly infirmary.
In the office high in the tower a few hours later, an old man consults his wisest adviser.
"What should the qualifications be? She must be beautiful."
The adviser shook his head.
"I have to beget children. I could not do so with someone akin to a troll, can I?"
His adviser, if it had the ability, would have rolled his eyes at that comment.
"I shall settle for a ... a handsome woman, if I must, who is intelligent with an agile wit.
The adviser pointed to a nearby clock.
"What age must she be? Hmm. Young enough to have children yet mature enough to raise them properly."
The adviser moved to the middle of his perch.
"A witch of middle age would be ideal. As to her disposition, she must be warm yet dignified."
The adviser made a small noise of approval.
"And must like you. If she does not, well, she is not the one for me."
The adviser nodded encouragingly.
"She must be a woman of means and independence. I would not be able to abide a simpering clinging vine."
His adviser stared at the sword of Godric Gryffindor hanging on the opposite wall.
"I hadn't considered bravery. Well, she will have to pass muster by Minerva. Her courage will have to be great indeed."
With a wave of his hand, the quill began to pen his requirements onto the ready parchment.
"Ah, one more. Kindness. She must have a good heart.
His adviser cocked his head as if in full agreement.
A few minutes later, in the office of the tired woman, the fire sparked to life. A scroll flew out of the hearth and lay still on the floor. The woman rubbed her red-rimmed eyes, put her quill down and stretched out her arms. She walked to the hearth and picked up the scroll.
"Not another Ministry request form please."
Deft hands unscrolled the missive. Eyes quickly scanned the contents. The office door opened and slammed shut.
"Too far! Too far!"
Heels clicked on the stone floor in a fast flamenca rhythm. Robes swished and swirled as the woman glided up the stairway.
"Who does he think he is!"
The portrait let her mistress in soundlessly. A quick spell and her rooms were ablaze with light.
"Chauvinist, barmy fool! Why have I wasted so much time?"
The wardrobe doors flew open. The woman reviewed her form critically in front of her mirror.
"I'll show him! I'll show everybody!"
Minerva moved to her bookcase and pulled out an ancient volume. Quickly she flipped through its dusty pages. Then she stopped. She grinned. She cackled.
"Yes, yes, yes. This will do nicely. He wants a wife. I'll get him a wife! The wife he deserves!"
Author's Note: I wanted to see if I could write a chapter where a line of dialog would be followed by a non-dialog line. Each line had to be short and concise yet move the story along. I cannot say where the plot of this came from. I suppose it could be considered the quirky opposite of Falling Into an Arrangement. Wondering if I ought to continue with this format or will it prove tiresome?
So, gentle readers, what kind of bride would the headmaster deserve? Bets? Requests?