In the Light Of the Stars

Minerva regarded her grimy hands ruefully, picking at the caked grease in her cuticles. She wasn't what she would define as particularly vain, but she was horrified at the effect of learning to repair automobiles had on her hands. Three nails broken, another two torn to the quick - she could feel the torn nails throbbing in time with her pulse. Several times, she irritably pushed her hair from her face, vowing for the hundredth time to just be done with it and cut the lot.

Jack, Reggie, and Tony were off doing Merlin-knew-what for the war. Planning some sort of invasion of France. It was still at least a year away, but it made Minerva seethe inwardly that she was reduced to doing menial chores, like automobile repairs, escorting other women delivering ammunition and firearms. She had been made to learn Muggle first-aid techniques, operate searchlights, and was even being taught the rudiments of operating the telephone. She could concede what she did was important, but Minerva had hoped she would be more involved in planning things like that, but apparently, being a woman in this endeavor disqualified her from being able to do more than fix a flat tire on a jeep.

Minerva kicked at a fragment of brick, aiming her frustrations at it, rather than the house full of boys. They seemed to get a bit tetchy if she displayed her temper. So far, she had managed to keep her father from visiting, but Angus wasn't going to stay away much longer. He'd sent a Howler when she'd first written to him, demanding she return home immediately. He didn't see why she needed to deprive herself with rationing and risk malnutrition. Furthermore, the Howler had fairly vibrated with indignation from Angus that Minerva was the lone woman in the house with four young men. Not just any young men. Four randy Yanks. Because everyone knew Yanks were the epitome of licentiousness and were prone to lewdness. Minerva had been required to stifle several giggles at that notion. Not only had none of the boys so much as attempted to touch her - well, not since that first night when Frankie had drunkenly stumbled into her bedroom - but they positively avoided the landing with the bath at all costs if she were anywhere near it.

Being relegated to a glorified mechanic and escort was the least of Minerva's worries. The Ministry had sent her a letter that morning. She was going to be assigned to the detail that escorted Queen Elizabeth on her jaunts through London, and half the week, Minerva would spend the night at Windsor Castle, outside of London, helping to guard the royal family. It set her teeth on edge to add "Queen and Princess Minder" to her list of duties that had little to do with what Minerva believed she would do when she joined the war effort.

Minerva opened the door of the house and grimaced at the smudge she left on the knob. The boys were gathered around the wireless, listening to their president. Jack usually had to be forcibly restrained from calling the man several unrepeatable names. Tony glanced up at the sound of her boots striking the floor and did a double-take. His lips twitched violently, and he began coughing to cover the abrupt laugh. Jack, Frankie, and Reggie turned to see what Tony was laughing at, and Reggie clapped a hand over his mouth. Frankie bit his lip and gazed at the ceiling. 'What?' Minerva snapped. 'Hae I somethin' on my face? A great bogie, perhaps?'

'I have no idea what a bogie is,' Jack managed to say with a perfectly straight face. 'But you've got a little something right there...' He gestured with one had at his cheek.

Minerva's lips pressed together, and she dug a handkerchief from the pocket of her trousers, and rubbed it over her cheekbone. 'Did I get it all...?'

Tony, having sufficiently gathered his wits, took pity on the poor witch. 'Minerva, why don't you go upstairs and wash up for supper? he suggested. 'It looks like you've had a rough day...'

'Think she's got enough soap?' Reggie whispered. 'That's every day this week she's had to come home and clean up like that...'

Minerva stiffened. 'I hae enough soap,' she said stiffly. 'My da sent a cake to me.' With that, she spun on her heel and stalked up the stairs, footsteps echoing behind her, until the bathroom door slammed shut.

Jack regarded Reggie thoughtfully. 'The two of you are going to have to stop growling and snapping at each other.'

'I'll do it when she does it,' Reggie muttered defensively.

'Whadd're ya? Five?' Frankie scoffed. 'Listen, she'll stop doin' it, if you stop doin' it.'

'You have been doing it since she got here,' Tony offered.

'She didn't look at you like you ought to be on the back of the damn bus,' Reggie retorted to Tony.

Jack tilted his chair on its hind legs, hands in his pockets. 'I think that's her way,' he said slowly. 'When she thinks she's being challenged or she thinks she has to stand up for herself...' He met Reggie's incredulous glare. 'She did it to me when I gave her that letter from her Ministry saying she had to go play baby-sitter to the royal family.' Jack shuddered a little. 'Honestly, it makes you feel like dog poo... I'd hate to be someone she really disliked...' He trailed off as an unfamiliar owl swooped through the open window. 'Oh, God, what now?' he exclaimed as the owl dropped the letter on the table in front of him. Jack wearily snatched the envelope from the table and tore it open. He yanked the letter out and began reading. 'Oh, no...'

'What?' Reggie leaned over Jack's shoulder. 'Oh, damn.' He plucked the letter from Jack and passed it to Tony, who scanned it, then handed it to Frankie.

Frankie frowned, and his features froze as he came to the end of the letter. 'What the hell was Ruth doing on a goddamned gun boat?'

Jack snorted. 'You know how the Army works. Once we signed up for this insanity, we had to go by their rules. And that means no magical transportation. If we're going to be part of the Army, we have to live by their rules.' He reached for the letter and stuffed it unceremoniously back into its envelope. 'I doubt we're ever going to know what Ruthie was doing on that gun boat. Loose lips and all that...' He sighed and threw the letter into the air, before jabbing his wand at it. The envelope burst into flames that died out before it landed on the floor. 'Come on. Let's go see what we can put together for supper...' He shoved his chair back and started to rise from the seat, then stopped and looked at Reggie. 'I don't suppose Lawrence sent you a sample of his latest batch...?'

Reggie shook his head. 'Nope. But we've still got some of that last bottle left.'

'Great.' Jack rose from his chair. 'We'll have some with dinner.'

XxXxXxX

Minerva quietly tiptoed down the stairs, hoping she could cobble together something resembling tea without disturbing the boys. As she came down the last few steps, she ruefully looked down at the brown dress. For most of the past month, she'd worn trousers or her ATS uniform, or anything else relatively shapeless. Anything to try and blend into the wallpaper a bit. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy their company, but Minerva preferred to keep her association with them on a more neutral plane.

This particular dress was several years old, and Minerva was grateful she hadn't really grown up or out since she was fourteen. In fact, the dress hung a bit limply lately, thanks to those weeks she hadn't been very interested in food after Alasdair died. She hadn't been very interested in food the past few weeks, either. If exhaustion didn't rob her of her appetite, the unappealing meals they could put together from their rations tended to take the edge off her hunger as well.

She could hear the sound of the boys rattling around the kitchen, and heaved a deep breath, before pushing the door open. Their chatter died as they looked up and took in the inconceivable sight of Minerva McGonagall in a floral-printed dress. She self-consciously pushed a strand of damp hair from her eyes. 'Can I help with anything?' She was met with more silence. 'Set the table, perhaps...?'

'Uh... yeah...' Jack blindly reached for a stack of plates, and handed them to Minerva. 'Thanks.'

Minerva fled to the other room. Tony looked around the kitchen. 'Was she wearing a dress?' he asked incredulously.

'Yeah...' Jack swallowed.

Reggie grabbed Jack's arm and shook it. 'No...' he warned. 'She's an underling, and you're the CO.'

Jack shook himself. 'I can't appreciate a pretty girl in a dress?'

'Not that one,' Reggie reminded him.

'Shut up, Reg,' Jack muttered.

'Fine,' Reggie huffed in exasperation. 'Look at her. But don't bleat about regulations to me anymore, okay?'

'Yeah...' Jack looked down at the tinned meat sizzling in a pan.

Reggie leaned closer to Jack. 'And just 'cause we're in merry old England, it doesn't mean that things are gonna change.'

Jack stiffened slightly. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Captain or no, you're still the Japanese kid from Sacramento. And she's who she is... Even the magical world isn't ready for that.' Reggie grabbed the bowl of potatoes and sauntered out of the kitchen.

XxXxXxX

Minerva traced the tines of her fork through the remains of a potato, leaving a series of parallel mountains and valleys. She cast furtive glances around the table. The boys seemed a bit off. Normally meals were rather boisterous affairs, but tonight was subdued and quiet. 'Has somethin' happened?'

Tony nodded. 'The witch that was supposed to come over was killed. The gunboat she was hitching a ride on to New York was torpedoed. Or that's what they think.'

'Oh.' Minerva set the fork down. 'Did ye know her well?'

'Yeah.' Reggie flicked his wand casually over his shoulder and Summoned a stoneware jug from the dresser in the dining room. Another flick drew out the cork and he poured a small amount in each of their glasses, pausing uncertainly over Minerva's. She snorted contemptuously.

'Ye're thinking I canna hold my drink?'

'This ain't water,' Reggie told her.

Minerva nudged her glass closer to Reggie. 'Pour.'

'Your funeral.' Reggie tipped the jug over the glass and poured a tiny splash of liquid into the glass. Minerva met his gaze levelly.

'I'm no' a bairn,' she said. Reggie smirked and carefully poured an amount equal to the other glasses. Minerva picked it up, briefly saluted the others with the glass and tossed the liquid back without blinking. She then pushed her chair back and gathered her plate and cutlery and carried them into the kitchen, walking steadily, and then returned and continued up the stairs, keeping the same steady pace. Her knees buckled only when Minerva had disappeared into her bedroom. She opened her mouth, and no sounds came out. 'Bloody hell,' she managed to rasp after a few minutes.

XxXxXxX

Loud, booming knocks battered against the front door, making the wood shudder each time the fist landed on its surface. Minerva bolted upright, wishing she hadn't, as her head began to pound in time with the door. She stuck her tongue out, convinced she was going to have to perform some sort of charm to shave it. It felt as if it was coated in fur. She heard a muffled curse as one of the boys gingerly shuffled down the staircase and opened the door. 'Who're you?' Frankie asked grumpily, squinting against the relative bright light outdoors, in spite of the cloudy day.

'Where is my daughter?'

Frankie eyed the tall, imposing man, bristling with an impressive amount of facial hair. 'You mus' be Minerva's dad,' he said.

Angus glared at the younger wizard. 'Aye. I am,' he said stiffly. 'Is she here?'

Frankie nodded, rubbing his temples. 'Yeah, and if she's got any sense, she's still in bed.' He stepped aside, allowing Angus into the house.

Minerva stumbled into the sitting room, brushing ineffectively at the wrinkles in her dress. She had vague memories of being restless and unable to settle for the night, then giving up and rejoining the boys. She had hazy recollections of chess games, first with a wizarding chess set, then a Muggle set as the boys attempted one after the other to try and beat her. The games were fueled by more of that strange beverage Reggie referred to as "moonshine". Her knee twinged, and she flicked the hem of the dress aside, astonished at the deep blue bruise blooming over the knee itself. I suppose crawlin' up the stairs at dawn wasna a dream after all, she mused. 'Da,' she croaked.

Angus' jaw snapped shut with an audible snap as he took in Minerva's disheveled appearance. 'Go and pack your things,' he ordered in Gaelic.

Minerva blinked. 'No.'

Angus' voice was dangerously low. 'I wilna allow ye to stay here,' he informed Minerva. 'Go upstairs now, and collect your things.'

'Ye dinna hae t' shout,' Minerva said sullenly.

Anugs reared back a little. 'I'm no' shoutin',' he rumbled. He glanced toward the stairs, where Jack, Tony, Frankie, and Reggie could be seen clustered on the bottom riser. 'Go get your things,' he repeated, switching back to Gaelic.

Minerva felt a flare of anger rush to the surface, pushing the nausea and the pounding headache aside. 'I will not.'

'You will do as you are told, Minerva,' Angus barked.

'I am of age, Da,' Minerva reminded him.

'This is not decent,' Angus retorted. 'You live alone here with those boys. I thought there was supposed to be another witch living here?'

Minerva ran a hand through her hair, wincing slightly. Even her hair hurt. 'She was killed,' she said quietly. 'Off the coast of America.'

Angus looked uncomfortable. 'I see.'

'What do you suppose they're sayin' to each other?' Frankie whispered to Jack.

'No idea.' Jack leaned against the wall. 'But I doubt it's, "Hugs and kisses, darling. See you next month."' He shuddered. 'I'd hate to meet him in a dark alley.'

Minerva threw a scathing glance over her shoulder at the boys and sighed. 'If ye make me return home wi' ye, I'll only come back,' she told her father in English, well aware the boys could hear everything they said. It saved her from trying to explain later. 'I might be naught but a glorified child minder and automobile mechanic, but it's better than doin' nothin', aye? Do ye want me to no' follow through on my commitments, Da? That's no' what ye taught me.'

Angus indicated the boys with his chin. 'I'll not hae ye exposed to such debauchery, Minerva.'

'Debauchery?' Minerva repeated incredulously. 'Where do ye get the idea I've been debauched, Da?'

'Sleepin' in your clothing, and smellin' like the Three Broomsticks after a Quidditch game?' Angus snorted.

Minerva pinched a fold of the dress' bodice and lowered her nose to it, sniffing gingerly. He was right. She did reek. 'We just played chess, Da,' she replied wearily. 'They kept tryin' to beat me, aye? And we had a few drinks. And there isna anythin' for ye to worry about. They hae strict policies about fraternization.' Her voice lowered. 'And I willna do anything to dishonor his memory, aye?'

'I dinna like it,' Angus complained.

'Ye dinna hae to like it,' Minerva rejoined. 'I'm no' a girl any more, and ye canna order me to do things like I was.' She drew herself up to her full height, feeling the headache begin to creep back behind her eyes. 'Go home, Da.'

Angus' mouth crimped under his beard, but he merely shoved a small package into her hands. 'Tea,' he said succinctly.

'Thank you.' Minerva looked down at the package. 'Would ye like to stay for a cup o' tea, Da?'

Angus hesitated. 'Aye.' He slowly reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair away from Minerva's face. 'But only if ye go and wash first, aye? I dinna fancy havin' tea with surrounded by the stink of summat that's been left in the bottom o' a glass in a pub.'

XxXxXxX

One by one, the boys filed into the kitchen, dressed in clean olive drab uniforms, trying to make a better impression on Angus, with Jack in the lead. She'd never seen the four of them with such serious expressions before. Jack formally introduced the other members of his team, while Tony busied himself with preparing a pot of coffee the way they liked it - strong enough to strip paint from the walls. Angus watched them gingerly take seats around the table as he raised his cup of tea to his lips. 'Ye lay a hand on my girl, and I will see to it that ye're hexed into insignificance.'

Reggie coughed on a sip of coffee, and Frankie helpfully pounded him on the back. 'Understood, sir,' Jack murmured. He had a feeling the older man could have easily made him disappear and convince people Jack had been a figment of their imaginations. He sat back in his chair and glanced at Minerva. The few times she'd performed magic in front of them, it had been done with a calm sense of purpose that looked nearly effortless. Jack surmised she'd inherited that quality from the man sitting next to her. Angus hadn't raised his voice the entire time, but it was clear he was a man used to having people follow any orders he might give. And Minerva hadn't backed down from her father's demands.

It made Jack see Minerva in an entirely different light.

XxXxXxX

An ear-splitting wail tore through the charms surrounding the house. Minerva sat up with a gasp, peering blindly through the darkened room. The door crashed open and Jack grasped her arm. 'Come on!' he shouted.

'I dinna... What is that noise?'

'Air-raid siren,' Jack replied tersely, grabbing Alasdair's plaid and wrapping it roughly around her shoulders. 'Where in God's name are your damned shoes?'

'By the door...' Minerva struggled to make sense of what was going on around her.

'You have your wand?'

'Aye, I do...'

'Then put your shoes on, and let's go!' Jack tugged Minerva impatiently off the bed, pausing long enough to allow her to slip her shoes on and all but dragged her down the stairs and out of the house. They joined a straggly line of people heading toward an entrance to the Chancery Lane station. Minerva struggled to keep up with Jack, her bare feet sliding in her shoes, his hand clamped in an iron grip around her upper arm. Reggie and Tony jostled her from behind, and Minerva had the impression they'd pick her up and carry her if need be.

They managed to make their way down into the deep-level shelter, under the Tube station. 'Do you see anywhere?' Tony murmured, scanning the crowded shelter.

'Over there, I think,' Reggie replied, gesturing with his chin. 'But we might have to split up.'

'Might be best if we did,' Tony muttered.

'Hey, Jack...' Frankie tapped Jack's shoulder. 'The three of us,' he began, indicating himself, Tony, and Reggie, 'will be in that spot over there... See the empty one?'

'Yeah...' Jack strained to see the small space that would just barely fit the three young men. 'I think we'll have to go further into the tunnel...'

Tony examined Minerva. 'I think you might want to explain what's going on more. She looks a little... loca...' He grinned as Minerva's eyes narrowed. She didn't understand the last word he'd used, but she was sure it wasn't complimentary, due to the impudent grin on his face.

Jack led Minerva deeper into the tunnel, carefully winding his way around the people already settled for the night. 'You do look a little frazzled,' he commented.

'Ye would look a fright too, if ye had been awakened from a sound sleep by that bloody siren,' Minerva muttered.

'You can go back to sleep when we get settled,' Jack promised. He sidled into an empty alcove and spread out the bedroll he carried. 'I guess we didn't tell you what to keep with you,' he said apologetically. 'Sit...' He waited until Minerva folded herself to the floor, then sat next to her, his back braced against the wall. 'You look different,' he blurted.

'I dinna hae my glasses,' Minerva responded placidly.

'Do you want them?'

'Ye're not going back out, are ye?'

Jack shook his head. 'Where are they?'

'Chair next to my bed.'

Jack grinned. 'Prepare to be astounded,' he said in a soft, dramatic voice. He snapped his fingers and in moments her glasses lay balanced across the palm of his hand. Jack unfolded them and slid the earpieces over Minerva's ears. 'There.'

'How did ye do that?' she demanded.

'I told you. I was the top student in my school.' Jack let his eyes close. He cracked one open. 'Want me to teach you?'

'Aye, I would.'

'Tomorrow. I'll show you.'

Minerva looked interestedly around the shelter. There were hundreds of people already in the station, and apparently had been there for hours. It looked as if they practically lived in the Underground station. She eyed the ceiling above them. 'Will it hold?'

'Will what hold?' Jack murmured sleepily.

'The roof.'

'It should. People've been sheltering in here since the Blitz started.' Jack shifted a little. 'Granted, the Jerries haven't bombed London since they ended the Blitz, but you never know...'

'If we're no' bein' bombed, then why sound the alarm?'

'Reconnaissance plane, maybe,' Jack replied. 'Better to be safe. Lots of people think they're just biding their time, and when we're not paying attention... Bam!'

Minerva gathered her hair between her hands and pulled it over her shoulder, then began to weave it into a loose plait. 'The house isna protected?'

Jack glanced uneasily at the Muggles surrounding them. 'Lie down...'

'I beg your pardon!' Minerva said stiffly.

Jack slid down until he stretched out on top of the bedroll. 'Lie down,' he repeated, beckoning with one arm. Minerva reluctantly arranged herself next to Jack. He wound his free arm over her waist, and pressed his chest to her back. 'Now then,' he murmured next to her ear. 'It's Unplottable. And there are a few light Muggle-repelling charms on it. But it won't protect us from German bombs. Magic -'

'Doesna solve everything,' Minerva finished. 'If that is the case, then why do we bother?'

'You're going to Buckingham and Windsor next week?'

Minerva nodded. 'I didna think I'd hae to follow members o' the royal family and mind them, like they were infants.'

'That's not why,' Jack chuckled. 'Think about it. What would it do to your country if something were to happen to them? The morale would drop faster than a rock. That's more important sometimes than firepower. Do you think Britain would have lasted against the Germans as long as they did during the Blitz if morale was low? Get through all the rationing? It's part of your identity. That stiff upper lip. And you've got something to fight for.' His voice trailed off as he drifted off into sleep. 'Important... morale...'

Minerva couldn't sleep. She spent most of the night staring at the sleeping Londoners around her, wondering: how long could they live like this before they descended into despair?