Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Both of you were recently reborn out of the ashes. You should have a great deal to talk about."

"You simply must go, Albus. You do not wish to appear churlish, do you?" said Perenelle Flamel.

"No," Albus said, sighing. "I don't. But I don't relish the thought of a Ministry ceremony, and certainly not a ball."

"It is tradition, my friend," said Nicolas. "It has been tradition as long as they have been awarding Orders of Merlin. Besides, people need a celebration now. It has been a long, dark period, and you can hardly blame them for wanting to kick up their heels a bit."

"No, I suppose not."

Albus had been trying to stay out of the public eye since returning to England. He had holed up in Godric's Hollow and sent an owl to Minister Greengrass, letting him know that he was alive and well and would provide a briefing on Grindelwald's capture at the Minister's convenience. Not ten minutes later, the Dumbledore cottage was full of Ministry officials and, to Albus's disgust, an official Ministry photographer snapping pictures every blasted moment. The following day, the little village had been inundated with well-wishers and reporters, at which juncture Albus had simply slipped out into the garden and over the small fence to Disapparate.

He was grateful to his old friends Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel for agreeing to shelter him in their small home in Devon. The Ministry's owls found him, but thus far, no one had sussed out his whereabouts, thank Merlin.

Now, the Ministry was insisting on this bloody awards ceremony and, worse, a celebratory ball in his honour. All Albus wanted to do was go back to Hogwarts and get on with the business of forgetting things.

"Good, now that is settled, who is going to accompany you to the ball?" Perenelle asked.

"Accompany me?" he asked, taken aback.

"Yes, of course, chéri. You will need a companion; it is de rigueur, and besides, if you show up without one, every eligible witch in Britain will attempt to stake a claim to you."

Yet another reason to dread the ball, thought Albus.

"So, who is it to be?" asked Nicolas with a merry twinkle in his eye. "As my beautiful wife has said, you have your pick."

"I haven't the faintest idea," said Albus. His mind settled, momentarily and unbidden, on Minerva, but he dismissed the notion, of course. After his return, he had asked after her obliquely, taking the head of the Auror Office aside and enquiring after the welfare of the recruits. He had heard, he said, that there had been injuries.

When Edgecombe had replied that, yes, there had, in fact, been casualties among the trainee Aurors, Albus's heart had seized up. He had not begun to breathe again until Edgecombe mentioned that the three female recruits had all acquitted themselves surprisingly well in the field...so well, in fact, that the Auror programme was considering revising its stance on admitting women permanently.

So Minerva had survived the war.

Eventually, Albus asked Galatea Merrythought to accompany him to the ball, but she...rather rudely, he thought...laughed at the notion.

"Oh, Albus! Merlin love you for asking, but I'm afraid I couldn't stomach a Ministry event. All those toffs! Oh, I do feel for you, my dear fellow. But it's the price of becoming a hero."

Albus winced at the title, and Galatea, who didn't miss much, noticed. "Face it, Albus: that's what you are, whether you like it or not. Now, if you want my advice...and even if you don't, I'm going to give it...make sure the woman on your arm is attractive enough for people to assume you are a couple. Otherwise, you'll have women falling all over you. Some still will, of course, but they'll just make themselves look foolish."

"I suppose you're right, as usual," he said. "But I do wish you would consider coming with me. It would be nice to feel I have a friend in my corner."

"I'm too old; people would assume you had brought your dear old auntie." She patted his arm reassuringly. "Try not to fret, lad, it will be fine. How many of these functions have you been to, anyway?"

"A few," admitted Albus. "But never as the sole guest of honour."

"Find yourself a plausible lady friend and try to have a good time," said Galatea. "In fact, find yourself a real lady friend and do have a good time. I swear, you've been like a monk up here at Hogwarts. Time to live it up a bit, eh?"

"We shall see."

Albus's thoughts strayed briefly to Minerva again as he wondered if she would be at the ball and if so, with whom. He had to stop himself from owling the Minister's secretary to find out if the Auror-trainees would be in attendance. If Minerva were there on the arm of another man, he would simply have to bear it.

In the end, Albus asked Cressida Burgess, an old friend from his days working with Nicolas Flamel, to accompany him to the ball. She had been an apprentice and had done some work with Albus on the chemical properties of gold. They had been lovers for a brief span of time until Cressida had left her alchemy apprenticeship for a more promising career as a Healer, and the two had parted amicably.

Nicolas had told Albus where to find her...working as a private Healer in Edinburgh...and she had been surprised but delighted, or so she said, to hear from Albus again.

As he dressed for the ball, Albus heard a voice calling from his sitting room and went to investigate.

Nicolas's voice was coming from the fireplace. "It is all right to pop through, my friend? I have something to show you."

"Certainly, come on through."

Nicolas arrived in a flurry of soot and stepped out of the fireplace, brushing ash off his robes. "This Floo needs a good cleaning, my boy," he said. "I never cared much for it as a mode of transportation. Terribly inelegant. Well! Don't you look fine!"

"Thank you. I decided to order some new robes for the occasion. Not too showy?" he asked, turning this way and that to give his friend a good view.

"No, no, not at all. The blue suits you nicely. Cressida will be most impressed," said Nicolas. "Now, I shall not keep you, but I have a little surprise I wanted to give you, to wish you luck tonight." He held up what was obviously a cage, covered with a gold cloth. He withdrew the cloth to reveal a tiny bird covered in pin-feathers with an enormous gold beak and deep-black eyes that seemed to be peering thoughtfully at Albus through the bars of its cage.

"Got him in al-Qahira during my trip last week," said Nicolas. "The hem-netjer was beside himself. He said the bird had been plucked nearly bald by black-marketeers. He was trying to mend him, but the bird would not eat properly. The little fellow seemed to take to me, so the hem-netjer gave him to me. Perenelle and I have been caring for him, and he seems better, but I do not think the seaside air agrees with him. His feathers always smell mouldy."

At this, the bird gave an indignant squawk and nipped at the bars of the cage.

"And as you see, I am a bit out of his favour. I do not think he liked the feather-grow treatment I gave him."

Albus was astonished. "Is he a phoenix?"

"Indeed, he is! And a beautiful one, too, aren't you my friend?" Nicolas said to the bird, who chirped his agreement. "I've no idea how old he is, of course. He burnt only two days ago."

"This is a lovely thought, Nicolas, but phoenixes are rare and very valuable. Are you certain you wish to part with him?"

"Oh, yes," said Nicolas. He leant close to Dumbledore and motioned him to bend down so he could whisper in his ear. "To be honest, he is a bit more trouble than Perenelle and I want to take on at our age. I have been up every two hours to feed the poor thing after his rebirth. Also, Perenelle said she thought you needed a friend up here at Hogwarts. Said you have been looking a bit ... how did she put it? Forlorn."

Albus bent down to the cage. "Hello, there. How would you like to stay here with me in beautiful Scotland? I can't promise you a lifetime of adventure, but I guarantee you'll be safe and warm, and no one will ever pluck your lovely tail feathers."

The bird gave a silvery trilling sound, which Albus took to signal his agreement.

"There, now. It is settled," said Nicolas, setting the cage down on Albus's table.

"I cannot thank you enough," Albus said. He felt drawn to the bird, and its brief song had given him a momentary feeling of warmth and belonging that he realised he had sorely missed since ...

"It is our pleasure. I know he will have a fine home here." Nicolas cocked his head as he looked at his friend. "You know, you have a lot in common."

"How so?"

"Both of you were recently reborn out of the ashes. You should have a great deal to talk about."

With that, Nicolas bowed his head at Albus, stepped back into the fireplace, and was gone.

~oOo~

She could barely see him, seated as she was at one of the tables farthest from the dais. But she could feel him the way she could feel the rain when it was about to fall on a humid summer's day. She squinted over the heads of the other attendees and was just able to see his right side, his hand toying with his goblet as he listened to the Minister drone on about his, Albus's, accomplishments.

She had an unobstructed view, however, of the woman seated next to him. She was blonde and tall, and looked to be in her early-middle years, although Minerva couldn't be certain without a closer inspection. The woman smiled and applauded at all the right moments.

Minerva hated her.

When the speeches were finally over, and Albus had graciously but briefly accepted his Order of Merlin, First Class, the small orchestra struck up a rolling waltz, and many of the attendees took to the floor.

"Would you like to dance, Minerva?" asked Douglas McLaggen, who had accompanied her to the ball.

Minerva glanced across the table at Amelia, who raised an amused eyebrow at her. Minerva gave her a stern look and replied to her escort, "That would be lovely, Douglas, thank you."

Once on the dance floor, Minerva kept an eye out for Albus but couldn't see him among the swirling bodies. When the waltz ended, the orchestra launched into a slower tune, and Douglas was obviously at a loss.

"Do you want to ... um ... or should we ..."

Minerva took pity on him. "Do you want to get something to drink?"

"Yes, sure," said a relieved Douglas. He saw her back to their table, where Amelia was arguing heatedly with a Junior Auror. When Minerva sat, Amelia turned to her.

"Minerva, will you please tell this dolt that my aim is exactly as good as it's always been?"

"The bar's not too high, then," said her sparring partner and escort, Gareth Prewett, and Amelia punched him on the shoulder.

"Ouch, Bonesy! Not so hard!"

"If I were you, Gareth, I'd keep the conversation to gossip about your fellow Aurors. Much less risk of bodily injury that way," Minerva said.

"On that note, ladies, I think I'll join Doug at the refreshment table," Gareth said, rising and following the other young man.

Minerva sat down next to Amelia, scanning the dance floor for any sign of Albus and his lady friend.

"So," said Amelia leaning toward her, "I hear your dad's taking my mum to the Muggle symphony tonight."

"Yes, I think Da mentioned it in his last letter."

"What do you suppose the odds are on him giving her a good shag afterwards?"

"Amelia!" cried Minerva, scandalised.

"What? Don't you want them to have a good time? Besides, Mum could use it. Maybe it'll get her off my back for a change. Fusses over me like a mother Jobberknoll. You'd think I was two, not twenty-four."

"She's just worried. She needs to fuss because she almost lost you."

"Your dad came closer to losing you, and I don't see him Flooing you every five minutes to ask how you are."

"Da's not a fusser," said Minerva, shrugging.

"Lucky you. Anyway, I hope your dad gives her a reason to fuss over him for a while."

Minerva was spared the trouble of making a retort when Douglas and Gareth arrived with the drinks.

"Who's the bird with Dumbledore," Gareth asked.

"I don't know," said Douglas. "You're the eyes and ears of the Auror Office; why don't you try to find out?"

"Don't need to," replied Gareth. "It'll be in the morning's Prophet. Nice looking. Got an eyeful at the refreshment table. She dropped her wand. Lovely assets."

"Let's dance," said Minerva.

A somewhat surprised Douglas led her out to the floor and began to move her about in time to the Latin beat of the music.

She danced with him through the next number until she finally spied Albus dancing with his date about ten feet from her. The woman was indeed lovely, and nausea rose in Minerva's belly as she watched them surreptitiously: Albus holding her waist, Albus bending slightly to whisper something in her ear, Albus laughing at something she had said.

He gave no indication that he had seen Minerva...no subtle nod of the head, no tiny smile, not even a glance...and she wondered if it was deliberate or if he truly didn't know she was there.

The number ended, and Minerva excused herself to go to the toilet. She felt her cheeks heat up as she walked directly past where Albus and his friend were still dancing together. She willed him to look at her but had no idea whether or not he had. Once in the loo, she splashed a bit of cold water on her face and waited until the flush had faded from her cheeks before venturing out again.

When she returned, Albus wasn't there.

"Shall we sit?" she asked Douglas when she reached him.

A few minutes later, she saw Albus again, standing on the periphery of the dance floor, talking with a small group of admirers.

"I feel like dancing a bit more," she said, standing and offering her hand to her bewildered escort.

"Your wish is my command, milady," he said, and lead her to the floor.

She managed to manoeuvre him to the side where Albus stood. As she danced, she had to force herself not to glance at her erstwhile lover. When she finally gave in, he was looking at her. He immediately looked away, and she wanted to scream. When the music slowed, she pulled Douglas closer, pressing her breasts against his chest, moving her cheek to rest against his. The young man's hand moved slightly lower on her waist, and she hoped savagely that Albus could see it.

When she finally was able to glance over to where he had been standing, he was gone.

After another hour of listening to her friends with half an ear and glancing around the room to locate Albus, she was exhausted.

Her friends were surprised when she interrupted their conversation to say, "I'm quite tired. Douglas, would you mind seeing me home now?"

There was a brief silence before he stood, saying, "Of course."

They said their good-nights and stepped out into the crisp night.

"Would you like to walk a bit, or would you prefer to Apparate directly home?" he asked.

"I think I'd like to go directly, if you don't mind."

"May I?" He offered her his arm for a Side-Along Apparition.

"If you haven't been drinking too much."

"Only one glass of wine after dinner. On my honour as an Auror-trainee, I swear I won't Splinch you," he said, and she allowed his arm to snake around her waist.

A moment later, they were standing in the backyard of the small building that housed the magical flat Minerva shared with Amelia.

Douglas didn't release her immediately.

"Well ... good night, Douglas. I had a lovely evening."

He answered by pulling her close and kissing her gently. She allowed this, then when he broke the kiss and opened his eyes, she disengaged herself from his embrace.

"I'm sorry, Douglas. I can't."

"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry if I overstepped."

"No, no," she said. "I probably gave you the wrong impression. I like you very much, Douglas, but it isn't possible. I'm sorry."

He smiled at her. "No harm done. Still friends?"

"Of course."

"All right, then. I'll walk you to the door."

He did so, and she offered him her hand. He took it, and instead of a shake, he gave it a gallant kiss.

"See you at the office, McGonagall."

"Yes."

When Minerva got into the flat, she changed out of her gown and lay down on her bed, not even bothering to clean her teeth.

She was furious. Furious at Albus for not deigning to speak to her all night, furious with the woman he had been with simply for existing, and most of all, furious with herself for feeling as she did, and, not least, for using Douglas McLaggen in the way she had. She had not intended it; she liked McLaggen and valued his friendship. It was a stupid and childish way to behave, and she had done it out of jealousy.

She had been so elated...and very nearly fainted...when she had opened her morning paper several weeks ago to find a photograph of a tense-looking Albus surrounded by reporters and attempting to answer the questions they were obviously pummelling him with. She was dizzy with it, and it took her a few minutes to calm herself enough to read the accompanying article explaining his mysterious absence and subsequent return to England. She had wept when she read of his injury and of his description of the destruction of Dresden.

She had tried not to hope he might come looking for her.

When Edgecombe had told them that the entire Auror Office, including the trainees, were to be invited to the ball celebrating Albus's Order of Merlin, she had been beyond excited. Surely she would have the chance to see him and to speak to him! Even if it were just a brief exchange between old friends...and really, she didn't expect any more than that...it would be like water to a man dying of thirst. All the reserve and self-discipline she had exercised over the past year where Albus was concerned had flown away at the prospect. She had allowed herself the tiny hope that, now that the war was over and she was no longer his student, he would seek her out...would come for her...and it had taken root whether she wanted it there or not.

But he had ignored her. Hadn't even attempted to speak with her or to acknowledge her existence in any way. And he had been with that woman. Minerva hated herself for her jealousy, but she couldn't stop feeling it. It oozed in through the cracks in her self-control and consumed her. And she had let it rule her that night.

Never again, she promised herself as she wiped the tears from her face with a rough sweep of her arm.

She could not help her feelings, but she would never again allow them to govern her actions.