Human Condition

It was common, Albus Dumbledore reasoned, for students, faculty, and often staff to be in and out of the headmaster's office. As a result, most of the staff was made aware of any password changes he made. Private quarters, however, were completely different. Each professor kept his or her own password, passing it on as necessary, required only to relay it to Madam Pomfrey in case of emergency. Beyond Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall was the only Hogwarts professor to ever know his password, and he hers. Like their relationship, it was something that simply *was* and neither could remember when, exactly, it began.

So, with no small amount of caution, careful to be unobserved, Albus Dumbledore made his way down the corridor toward Minerva's private quarters. The stubborn deputy headmistress had missed breakfast, and lunch was quickly approaching. Albus understood she might still be under the weather, as it were, but she still warranted a visit.

He had missed her.

The wizard hesitated before her door. Looking first right, then left, and right again, he whispered quietly to the heavy wooden door. It rippled before him, like a pond after a stone skipped across the surface. He drew a deep breath, then stepped through.

Blue eyes surveyed the room over the wire rims of his glasses. The room was mostly dark, heavy tapestry drapes drawn across the lead-paned windows, and the only illumination was the sunlight, peeking between the curtain panels. Her furniture, he noted, had not moved since his last visit. She had either not had the time since her return, or had not been worked into a snit - something which often resulted in a marathon of levitation spells and a new room arrangement. Given the recent circumstances, his bet was on a simple lack of time.

Objects further from the windows slowly took shape as his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting. To his left, he spotted the ornate four-post bed. Readjusting his glasses, he could just make out the sleeping features of Minerva McGonagall.

A slight smile twitched across his lips. //Finally some peace, Minerva?// he thought. Reports had filtered in, of course, concerning problems at the school. Dolores Umbridge had certainly wasted no time taking command after his departure from the school. The professors, he publicly maintained, should follow the codes set forth by the Ministry of Magic. Privately, however, he had taken much amusement at the reports of resistance mounted by the professors, Minerva chief among them. Umbridge likely never knew what hit her.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Minerva," he said quietly. With a simple wave of his hand, one set of drapes flew open and sunlight erupted into the room. On the bed, Minerva scowled without opening her eyes and rolled onto her side. A throaty voice, heavy with sleep, muttered, "Go away, Albus."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I can't do that, Minerva." He hefted his robes, crossing the room, and lowering himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. One arm reached across her torso, providing him a small amount of balance. He cleared his throat. "We need to discuss your temper . . . young lady."

Minerva opened one eye, then the other. Slowly, she rolled over. Though not fully awake, Albus could see the beginnings of a grin curving her lips. She stretched. "A bit of the cauldron and the kettle, wouldn't you say, Albus?" The grin reached her eyes. "I understand Percy Weasley *still* has a headache."

"Naturally, I regret having to -"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Albus! The pompous git deserved *exactly* what he got!" The witch sat up in bed, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. She regretted the quick action almost immediately, wincing with the movement.

For a long moment, Albus watched her and she avoided his gaze. "I'm sorry I didn't arrive sooner."

Minerva reached and covered his hand with her own. "I know you had the Order to think about. Rushing headfirst into St. Mungo's would have been a foolish thing to do."

"Exactly . . . the words Remus chose." Dumbledore gave a rueful smile. "Certainly not the first time I'd have played the fool," he said. He shook his head. "Harry . . . Sirius. It was fool-hearted of me to keep so much from them."

"You did what you felt was best." She paused, studying his expression, lips thinning. "Young Potter was rather upset with you."

Drawing in a deep breath, the headmaster nodded. He noted her tone implied a statement, not a question. "And rightfully so," he admitted at length. "So . . . very many things I could have -- *should* have done differently."

"You know better than this." McGonagall glared at him. "If you continue this pity party, you'll have to take it elsewhere. What's done *is* done, and I refuse to be witness to this." He avoided her eyes and she sighed. Her expression softened slightly. "Sometimes I think even *you* forget you're human, Albus."

Much like the Muggle politician from the previous war, Churchill, Dumbledore had felt the burden of responsibility weighing on his shoulders alone; for the previous year, lack of support from the Ministry made this almost true. Had things begun before now, he wondered if the Order were ready. Chances were greater they would have emerged triumphant over the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, but at what cost? How many of the lives he cared for would have extinguished before victory? Now, even with Ministry and popular support, they had lost Sirius - and very nearly lost Minerva.

Harry's anger also left a stinging mark as their conversation rang over in his mind. He had once thought to empty the memory into the Pensieve, but thought better of it: The sting would serve as his penance for forgetting his own human frailties.

For the first time in many moons, Albus Dumbledore felt every bit his age.

Slowly, he raised his gaze to meet hers. He allowed all the weariness, all the frustration, and all the fear to shine through his usually calm façade. Minerva straightened. She gave a glassy-eyed smile, her own expression displaying the exact opposite of his. While he had been so concerned over his own weaknesses, Minerva had sought her strengths. Through tears she refused to shed, the headmaster gleaned specks of spontaneity, strength, and perseverance: It was both a comforting and reassuring realization.

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps, my dear, if you've slept off the bulk of Severus' sleeping draught -"

"Sleeping draught?" McGonagall arched a brow. "Did you not think I'd rest on my own?"

The impish twinkle returned, unbidden, to his eyes. A grin twitched at his lips. "I knew you wouldn't."

She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak. Immediately she snapped it shut. "I don't know whether I still care for you or not."

"Quite a number of wasted years if you don't."

"Out!" Minerva said, pushing at his shoulder. "I've had enough of you, you old goat!" Her tone belied her words, laughter brimming just beneath the surface. As he rose, gathering up his robes, it bubbled over, throaty and genuine.

"I take it, then, you'll be joining me for tea?" Albus smiled at her over his shoulder as he crossed the room. He paused just before the door, turning back to her.

Minerva shook her head, still chuckling. She swung her feet to the floor, offering a fleeting glimpse of her bare ankles as her nightdress fluttered to cover her. In one fluid motion, she then whirled her robe around her and slipped her arms into the sleeves. She looked back up at him as she tied the sash. "Of course I'll join you, Albus," she replied. "Now - off with you while I get dressed."

Dumbledore regarded her over the rims of his glasses, silver brows raised. He waited until a blush crept across her cheeks before turning toward the door. The sound of her laughter tickled at his ears and swelled his heart as he disappeared into the corridor. Perseverance. Happiness. Love. Three strengths of human nature. Two of these things, Tom Riddle had long since forgotten and, as such, lost his humanity. For a time, so had he. He tossed a glance back toward Minerva's door. If this was humanity, Albus reflected, he wouldn't forget again for a very long time.