A Mother's Tears

A Mother's Tears

Notes: I'm going to finish at least one series before summer, if it kills me! I have at least fifteen in progress and since this is one of the shorter ones, I figure this would be the best candidate. Plus, I'm in the mood for a nice dose of lost-child-to-another-person-style angst. Gotta love it when I'm in a good mood :D

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Mother is the name of God on the lips and hearts of all children

- William M. Thackeray

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July 16th 1956

Warm, mid-afternoon sunlight was pouring in through narrow, arched windows that still bore the speckles of rain which had been falling only twenty minutes earlier.

Outside, the blue sky was scudded with fluffy, grey-lipped white cloud, yet looked freshly washed, the light scent of the air clean and permeating every corner of the normally stuffy room, where a teacher sat at a desk.

Oblivious, Professor Minerva McGonagall did not notice nor care that the rain which had been pouring down near torrentially for two days had given way to the beaming face of the sun.

A quiet knock on the door of her private office caused Minerva to raise her green eyes from the letter she was in the process of writing, the quill stilling over the sheet of parchment. "Come in."

With a squeal, the heavy door opened and a bearded face peered in, a smile on the visage of the Head Master. "I suspected I might find you here, Minerva," he said with a small sigh. "Honestly, my dear lady, why do you linger here during the summer?"

Laying her quill down, Minerva gave him a measured look over the gold rims of her spectacles. "And why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer, Albus?" she challenged, folding her hands in front of her.

"I must be growing senile," Albus chuckled, entering the room fully and approaching her desk, rubbing his hands together.

Minerva snorted, shaking her head. She retrieved her quill and dipped it in the ink well, lifting her eyes to her long-time friend as she did so.

"Not to be rude, Albus, but what brings you here?" she said, a touch curious. While Albus made it his duty to watch over her, he seldom intruded without good reason or invitation. "If you have come to lament my lack of social interaction, then I suggest you leave before I am forced to turn you into something unpleasant."

"With such a way with words, it is a wonder that even I tolerate your company," the wizard said amiably, his blue eyes twinkling. Minerva flashed a mock-glare at him, which only served to make him beam at her.

Tapping her quill against the lip of the ink well with a little more vehemence than she would otherwise show, Minerva kept her eyes on him, her lips pressing together in muted annoyance. "Albus, as you know, I have no wish to find a charming husband or 'settle down'," she said firmly. "As I have told you countless times before."

"Which is a true tragedy," he said seriously. She could feel his eyes on her bowed head. "You would have made a wonderful mother."

Minerva forced her attention back upon the parchment, her teeth clenched together, blinking hard. The only person she had ever contemplated sharing her life with, in a brief moment of madness, had torn her heart out and ripped it asunder before her eyes, leaving her feeling as if she were worth less than dirt.

Drawing controlled breaths, she forced down tears at the memory of the man. Even though they had only shared one night and day, the very thought of him made her heart break all over again.

To be used so very badly, then cast aside...

She couldn't...

Wouldn't.

Her lips a narrow line, her eyes stung with the effort of containing her tears.

She would never allow herself to be hurt that way again and if it meant avoiding the kind of interaction Albus wished for her, if it meant never bearing another child, if it meant the continuing the lie that she was simply Donald's aunt...so be it.

Clearing her throat, she spread her left hand on her chest, trying to steady her emotions and raised her eyes to Albus once more. "Well, we both know my stance on the situation. I am quite content, thank you very much." Blue eyes gave her a measured look, which said everything and nothing. Change the subject. Change the subject, please! "So, Albus, why did you drop by?"

"Well," Albus seemed to accept her change in topic, although there was a look on his face which said that he might have stopped talking about it now, but that did not mean the subject was closed. "It is rather opportune that you are here, my dear."

"Oh?"

What else could she have said?

Her mind was snapping that Albus had to leave at once, to give her some privacy and to let her regain her rapidly slipping self-control. Yes, she could tolerate his concern for her, but she did not want to hear his worries about her relationships.

He favoured her with a small, cryptic smile. "There is a particular task I thought you might be interested in doing for me and the school," he replied, one hand dipping into a capricious pocket and withdrawing an envelope.

Placing it flat on the desktop, he slid it towards her, Minerva's brows lifting, as she reached over, picking it up.

Turning it over to see to whom it was addressed, she saw the familiar address written in his favourite purple ink, her wide, startled eyes lifting to him as the colour drained from her face.

"Your only nephew, isn't he?" There was something in Albus' calm, gentle voice that caused her already quivering heart jolt like a startled hare at the sound of the horn of the hunt.

Minerva tried to nod her head in assent, but it felt like she was caught in a full body-bind. Except her hand, which was shaking violently, the letter shivering between her fingers. Her eyes dropped back to the address, her mind in a whirl.

"So he is a wizard," she managed to spill the words. "We did not know if he would be or not."

Albus Dumbledore smiled, the warm, genuine smile that had made him so trusted and comforting on so many occasions. "Rest assured that he most certainly is," he said. "After all, look at his mother."

Again, Minerva felt the strange prickle of panic at the tone in his voice. Did he know about her little Donald? Was he trying her? And what if others knew that her little boy was at the school?

Her poor wee lad...

Wee lad...

Donald had only just turned ten!

Too soon!

It was too soon!

"He-he's too young to come here!" she said urgently, the hand on her chest pressing against the thick fabric of her robes, fingers biting into her skin, bruising. "He's only ten! He should start here next year!"

"Ah, yes," Albus nodded slowly, his hands once more folded within in his capricious sleeves. "But, you see, he was born before the twentieth of February and you know well that the cut-off date for our students is the twentieth. He will be joining us here in September. I thought you might like to be the one to deliver the letter."

Donald.

Donald was coming to Hogwarts.

Her son was coming to her school to be taught magic.

Minerva's vision swam, her breathing shallow and rapid.

She had suspected that one day, she might have to deal with seeing him more than two or three times a year, but to have him there, in Hogwarts, in front of her every day of the school terms was a little more than she was ready for.

"Minerva?" Albus' voice was tinged with concern. "Are you all right?"

Nodding jerkily, she managed to wrench her hand from her breast and smiled tightly up at him, although it felt that her cheeks were about to splinter from the sheer force she had to exert to make the corners of her mouth lift.

"I-I just was not expecting him to be coming here so soon," she said, a slight rasp in her voice. Trembling as well, nervous, startled and anxious. "After all, it seems like barely yesterday that he was a baby."

Albus nodded, his eyes on her in a familiar penetrating gaze. "Children do seem to grow rudely fast," he remarked. "One minute, you find yourself with a baby in your arms and the next moment, that baby is married with children of their own. You would think they might have the courtesy to grow a little slower."

Forcing a strained little laugh, Minerva nodded again. "It would certainly seem to be the case," she said, although her attention was more upon the letter gripped in her trembling hand than on her old friend.

"You will deliver the letter, then?"

In some distant part of her mind, she was screaming an adamant refusal, howling that her son was too young, too small, too hers to be attending Hogwarts, where she would have to teach him.

Both fortuitously and regrettably, the civilised section of her mind constructed the reply she gave Albus: "Of course. I would be delighted."

***

The weather had dulled considerably by the time the Professor of Transfiguration found the nerve to depart from the school, walking across the magnificent grounds to Disapparate straight to the house of her sister.

Pulling up the hood of her dark robes as she emerged during a shower of rain, Minerva pushed the creaky gate open and hurried down the gravel-strewn path, one hand holding the collar of her robes as she made her way to the door.

Raising her hand, Minerva's fingers hovered a hair's breadth from the shiny brass of the knocker in the middle of the green door, her heart and mind both racing.

If she were to fail to deliver the letter to her sister and Donald, Albus would know and would be alerted that something was amiss, which would give him even more leverage for trying to seek out the flaw in her allegedly comfortable life.

Her fingertips ghosted hesitantly over the cool, rain-speckled brass, a light trail of misty condensation left by her skin, before she lifted the brass knocker and rapped sharply. Once. Twice.

"I'll get it, mam!"

Minerva closed her eyes at the sound of Donald's voice from the hall. Feet pounded on the stairs, just inside, and the front door was flung wide to the wall, revealing - in all his perfect glory - her son.

It had only been six months since she had visited, yet he had sprung up inches in the time that had past. His dark hair was as unruly as ever, as his mother's was when she did not take the time to tame it, his face ruddy and merry, the smile on his face bright, forming deep dimples in his cheeks.

"Aunt Minerva!"

Before she could raise her hands to ward him off or even voice a protest, the black-haired boy threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Her breath hitched and it wasn't because of his bear-like grip.

"It's lovely to see you again too, Donald," she managed to say, although her voice was hollow. Her hands came to his shoulders and she gently negotiated him back a little from her. "Although, I do rather like to be able to breathe, my wee man."

Grinning at her, Donald's green eyes danced. "Ye didnae tell us ye were gonnae visit us, Aunt Minerva," he noted, stepping back to let her into the hall and taking her heavy travelling robes to hang up on a peg to the right of the door. "Mam thought ye'd forgotten about us."

"As if I would be able to forget you," Minerva said quietly, a note of sadness in her voice that was completely disregarded by the ten-year-old. Forcing a smile, she added quickly. "And as if your mother would allow me to forget her."

"Did I just hear the insolent tones of my baby sister?" Guinevere's laughing voice rang down the narrow hall from the small living room, her full silhouette appearing in the doorway at the end.

"Aye, mam! It's Aunt Minerva!"

Minerva tried to smile at her sister, as she approached. "It has been a while, Gwen."

"For which, ye have to admit, yer responsible," Guinevere chastised gently, then turned to Donald, who was bouncing on his toes and hugging himself. "Will ye be a wee sweetheart and go and put the kettle on for me and yer Aunt, son?"

Nodding eagerly, Donald beamed at her. "A'right, mam!"

Bounding off to the kitchen, he left the two women facing one another, half a dozen paces between them. Minerva lowered her eyes, one hand delving into the pockets of her robes. "I-I only really came to deliver this to you," she said, withdrawing the letter and holding it out to her sister. "I shouldnae stay long."

"What is it, Miner..." Guinevere's eyes widened, clearly identifying what her little sister was holding. Minerva recognised the shock which she had felt herself, only an hour or two earlier. "Oh my..."

"He's to start this year."

"But he's only ten..."

Minerva nodded, lowering her eyes. "I said the same thing to Albus when he brought this to me," she replied, her voice low. "But he pointed out that Donald is within the cut-off age for that year group and that he should begin this year."

Leaning heavily against the dark doorframe, Guinevere's fingers gripped against the wood, the tips whitening. "And if we say no?"

"You know how the system works, Gwen," Minerva replied unhappily, turning the letter over in her hands. "Should a child with any magical potential remain untrained, they could be regarded as a potential danger by the Ministry of Magic."

"I-I could teach him here."

The younger witch shook her head. "I wish you could as well." For utterly selfish motives, she added bitterly to herself, anything to avoid facing him every day. "You wouldnae be allowed, Gwen. You know how strict they've been recently, after Grindelwald then, the Chamber of Secrets."

"But he's so wee..."

"Who's wee?"

Both the witches turned to see Donald standing just behind his mother, a puzzled expression on his face, his mere presence utterly nullifying his mother's argument. He already stood at nearly the same height as Guinevere, his head just cresting Minerva's shoulder, already taller than either of them had been at Hogwarts.

His father's height, Minerva thought with a pang of pain.

"You are, Donald," Guinevere said with a tight laugh that sounded forced even to Minerva's ears.

"I'm no' wee!" Donald protested indignantly, then seemed to spot the letter in Minerva's hand, a look of curiosity crossing his brown-as-a-berry face, tanned from hours of playing outdoors. "Is that a letter for me mam, Aunt Minerva? Why didn't ye just post it to her?"

Minerva raised her eyes to Guinevere again, her heart wrenching painfully. Her sister slowly nodded, looking as pained as the younger witch felt. "Actually, my wee man, it's for you," she said.

"For me?"

"Aye," Her breath escaped in a rush and she tried to find words to explain to him what the letter contained. "You remember the school I teach at?" Donald nodded. They had never kept the reality of the wizarding world from him, especially not with his mother being a pureblood witch. "This is a letter to tell you that you have been accepted there."

"Me?" Green eyes went as wide as saucers. "I'm gonnae go to a magic school?"

"If... if you want to," Minerva said, her heart warmed by the look of sheer delight on her son's face, yet aching because she knew that soon, she would be facing his bright eyes and smile every day.

Easing around his adoptive mother, Donald scampered down the hallway towards Minerva, staring at the letter eagerly. "Can... can I open it?" he asked, looking up at her with shining eyes.

"Of course, wee man."

Tearing open the envelope, he was bouncing excitedly as he quickly pulled the letter free and started reading aloud the missive from the Head Master, his eyes dancing with delight.

Raising a hand to stroke Donald's unruly hair, her eyes lifting to her sister, Minerva saw the acceptance on Guinevere's face and knew that there was no further question in the matter: Donald would be going to Hogwarts in September.

***

"Patterson, Donald!"

Scanning over the faces of the pupils, Minerva could not help returning the smile that her son shot at her as he squeezed to the fore of the group towards the stool, where he would be sorted by the hat she currently held in her hand.

Dropping down onto the stool, his grin enough to illuminate the Great Hall, he looked up at the hat expectantly, squeezing his eyes shut as it was placed on his head, his hands clenching together in his lap.

So excitable and so very, very keen, he was.

Genevieve had brought the young boy down to Diagon Alley the previous day, by a portkey, and the three of them had spent the whole day together, getting his supplies and robes, filling a new trunk, which Minerva had bought him as a gift.

Angus had not attended, busy working at the factory, but he had given his adopted son his blessing and a large, generous bag of sweets to take with him for his journey to the school.

They had stopped at Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour late in the afternoon and, after ordering a massive Sundae for Donald, had talked about the school, pondering which house Donald might be put into.

With creamy ice cream and chocolate syrup dripping down his chin, he had beamed up at them both and said he didn't mind, as long as the hat didn't say he had to leave the school.

Minerva, herself, had been a Gryffindor, which led to the expectation that her own little boy could be one as well.

She suspected he would be either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, as he was very intelligent and surprisingly well-read for a child of his age, without a cunning or malicious bone in his honest and happy little body.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And how well that assumption paid off.

Hopping off the stool as soon as the hat was lifted from his head, he beamed up at her and bound towards the Gryffindor table, throwing himself onto the long bench beside a blonde girl and opposite a brown-haired boy, his sunny grin drawing hesitant smiles from each of them.

Working her way through the rest of the register for the Sorting, Minerva had never been more grateful to take her seat at the High Table, sitting down beside Albus, her eyes immediately seeking out her son at the Gryffindor table.

Already, he was chattering eagerly with those around him, practically ignoring his food in favour of his new friends, who she recognised as Benedict, Adrian, Parker, Catherine and Ledger, William.

"He seems a friendly boy."

Turning to find Albus studying her son, she nodded. "He is."

Blue eyes glanced at her. "Remarkably like his mother, wouldn't you say?" he said with a reassuring smile.

Minerva stared at him in a combination of shock, horror and dismay, realising what he was saying in his subtle way. Of the two sisters, she had been the friendly, out-going one, while Guinevere had been the quiet one, who kept herself to herself.

He knew.

He knew!

Her heart seemed to wrench against her sternum. "Albus, I-I..."

One of his hands found hers on the arm of her chair and squeezed it gently. "Have no fear, dear lady," he murmured comfortingly, his eyes holding hers. "Your sister's son is one of the happiest children I have ever seen and I have seen many. His mother is a lucky woman."

Minerva smiled weakly. "Yes," she replied, her eyes drifting to Donald again, where he was clapping his hands and laughing merrily, the sight causing a well of affection in her breast. "She really is."