DECEMBER 1943, cont.

They Apparated to a location just outside of the bustling city center – a suburban home, standing side by side in a row with more, identical homes, decorated in middle-class Muggle fashion. When the telephone rang, Minerva almost threw an Unforgivable in its direction on pure reflexes alone; Dumbledore, however, had clearly expected this and picked up the receiver.

"We're here. Give us ten."

As he put the phone down again, Minerva eyed him curiously. She was stubborn and didn't appreciate the way he'd talked to her – but she was also curious.

"What's the plan, Sir?" she asked succinctly.

He turned to look at her as though he'd forgotten she was in the room and for a moment, both witch and wizard were silent. Dumbledore's eyes seemed to study her face quietly. He was, she sensed, a man who did his best work alone. Minerva knew that feeling, because she essentially operated the same way, but just as she had to put aside her natural urge for insubordination aside, he could adjust, as well.

She didn't look away, and suddenly he sighed.

"You're right. Sit down. Do you want a cup of Muggle coffee? I believe Bridget left us some."

Minerva hadn't had coffee in a long time. She nodded.

"Who's Bridget? Whose house is this? When are we leaving?"

She should've felt contrite, but didn't. Dumbledore smiled as he made a valiant attempt to operate the Muggle coffeemaker – he was Pureblooded, she remembered.

"Ingenious devices, these. Always remember, Minerva – we can learn a lot from our non-magical friends. They are not to be underestimated. Ouch!"

Minerva smiled faintly and rose to her feet to help him.

"I know, Sir. My father is a Muggle."

As she handed him a cup of coffee – strong, black, the way she liked it best – he raised an eyebrow and took a sip, no doubt, Minerva thought, burning his tongue.

"He is, is he? Well, that only proves what I told you. Muggles can't do magic, but they're highly resourceful – and sometimes, they have the most powerful magical children. I have great hopes for Ted and Bridget's eldest, for example."

"Who are - "

"Of course, of course!"

As his blue eyes twinkled in her direction over the rim of his coffee cup, Minerva felt herself almost forgiving his earlier behaviour. He was surprisingly charismatic for a man without political ambition, and even though her Auror training had taught her to distrust overly charismatic people as potential demagogues, she felt the attraction he could work on people if he wanted to. It was something she would have to remember.

"This is the home of Ted and Bridget Stark. Bridget is a Muggle – Ted is one of the Starks of Hogsmeade, but he was sadly born a Squib and is currently in the Muggle army. Bridget lives here with their two daughters. They're obviously aware of what is going on in our world and allow the Ministry to use the house as a safe house – it's under a number of strong protection charms."

Minerva nodded. Using the house of a non-magical family as a safe house was unusual, but it wasn't unheard of.

"I see. But - "

"We're waiting for the signal that it's safe to fly, which may not come for a few hours, so we'll have the dark on our side once we reach the continent. I brought you here, however, to tell you a little more about our mission."

"Yes, Sir."

His eyes were serious again.

"You must realize this is a dangerous venture. We may have to stay hidden for a long time, and our ultimate objective is to end this war once and for all. We will be interacting with Muggle resistance members, and for that purpose, two members of the Muggle armed forces will be working with us."

"They will – what?"

Dumbledore couldn't help laughing.

"I thought you said your father was a Muggle, Minerva! There are certain dangers to having these people with us, but there are also advantages. They're much more aware of the intricacies of their world than even you are, and the young lady, I've been told, is a fluent speaker of German. They will be parachuting in at our location once we have the necessary charms put up."

"I understand."

She didn't quite understand, to be honest. Even despite all her training, Minerva suddenly keenly felt her young age, and the amount of information she had been shielded from as an Auror-in-Training, but she would not give that away – not while there was still a chance he'd hold her back.

She rose to her feet and pushed a curtain aside, looking out of the window. A little boy walked by on the pavement, his hands pushed deep into his pockets against the cold. She thought briefly, fondly, of her little brother back in Scotland.

"Why are you so eager to come, Minerva?"

She felt Dumbledore's eyes burn holes into her back, but she didn't turn around, focusing her eyes on the child outside as he kicked an old tin into the gutter.

"Wouldn't everyone be, Sir?"

"No."

It was the obvious answer to a flippant question. Minerva turned around, unsure of precisely the answer she wanted to give him.

"Well, Sir... Muggles have taken to calling this war the People's War, because it is a total war in ways that are completely different from the wars that have gone before. They call it that because it involves all classes, all ages, both sexes, but they don't realize how thoroughly that applies even to our society and theirs. There are connections between the Muggle war and ours that tie the two together – that erase all divisions between who they are and who we are."

He was watching her closely, his face unmoving. Minerva looked him straight in the eye as she tried, as best she could, to explain.

"I haven't been tortured or wounded. I haven't lost a parent or a lover to – to this situation. But you yourself have said so before – us and the Muggles are not so different. My father's blood is Muggle and my mother's blood is magical, and if people like me don't care… then who will?"