In the Light Of the Stars

The shelter in the Underground was stuffy, Minerva decided. The mass of people that sought what protection it afforded from the too-frequent claxons that split the London nights with its terrifying wail added to the sense of airlessness that permeated the station. She was growing to hate Chancery Lane and everything it stood for.

Invariably they split up - Frank, Reggie, and Tony went to one area, and she and Jack to another.

After that first night when Jack pretended they were more than colleagues in order to keep the conversation as private as possible, he hadn't laid a hand on her again. After the initial sense of shock, it hadn't been an unwelcome sensation to sleep with Jack's hand resting on hers. Minerva shifted on the bedroll and gazed at the solid concrete above their heads. 'Are ye scared?' she breathed.

Jack inhaled slowly. 'Sometimes,' he admitted quietly. 'You?'

'Aye.'

'Of what?' Jack turned to his side, and propped his head in his hand.

'I'm no' scairt o' dyin',' Minerva murmured. 'I dinna want to die before I do aught wi' my life.' She glanced at Jack. 'I want to do summat useful, aye?'

'Like what?' Jack waited for Minerva to respond. She was silent for so long, he thought she had gone to sleep. He carefully rolled onto his back, so as not to wake her when she spoke so softly, he had to strain to hear her over the sighs and snores of the people around them.

'I dinna ken. I knew before. And now...' Jack felt a tremor run through her body. 'I dinna ken.'

xxxxxx

Minerva didn't know what to expect when she met Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons - Her Majesty the Queen.

She'd seen photographs, of course, but rarely ever spared a thought for any member of the royal family. They didn't figure prominently in the magical world.

She wasn't expecting slightly plump, small woman with a somewhat cheeky smile. Someone poked Minerva in the back. Flushing with embarrassment, Minerva dropped a quick, belated curtsey. 'Ma'am,' she mumbled.

'Actually, it's "Your Majesty" first, then "ma'am",' the Queen corrected with a wry smile that took the sting from her words. She studied Minerva for a moment and her smile broadened. 'So you're the one Mr. Churchill was adamant about sending to us for protection.'

'Yes, ma'am.' Minerva waited expectantly for the Queen to say something else.

Queen Elizabeth eyed Minerva for a moment. 'I'm afraid Mr. Churchill was not able to inform me of your name.'

'Minerva, ma'am. Minerva McGonagall.'

'You're not from London.'

Minerva shook her head. 'No, ma'am. I was born near Fort William.'

'Ah! A fellow Scot. Minerva's an interesting name. And quite appropriate given the circumstances.' The Queen perched on a chair behind a massive desk. 'You'll meet Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret at Windsor later. They shall be thrilled to have a young girl there. I was given to understand that you're nearly their age.'

'I'm eighteen, ma'am.'

'So young.'

'I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I very much doubt German bombs care how old their victims are.'

'Very well put.' Queen Elizabeth motioned for Minerva to sit in a chair across the desk. 'We have quite a busy schedule this week.' A tall man ambled into the Queen's office. 'Hello, Bertie,' she said in obvious delight. A sly smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. 'Allow me to make introductions.' Minerva rose, her hands folded in front of her. 'Bertie, this is Minerva McGonagall. She's from Mr. Churchill's special office. Apparently, he feels we need more protection than the MI-5 can provide.' Her eyes twinkled with mirth.

Minerva dropped into another curtsey. 'Your Majesty.'

Queen Elizabeth slid a hand into the crook of the King's elbow. 'Miss McGonagall, may I present His Majesty King George VI.'

The King hesitated for a long moment. His lips pursed several times. 'P-pleasure to m-m-m-meet you, Miss McGonagall.'

'Likewise, sir,' Minerva said, looking up at him from under lowered eyelashes. His face was arranged in kind, yet determined lines. He nodded once, and continued on his way, leaving Minerva to ponder how this shy, reticent man managed to embody the spirit of the English people.

xxxxxx

If Minerva thought Windsor would be a refuge from the claustrophobia of Chancery Lane, she was wrong. Windsor might have been several miles away from London, and a palace, but the windows were either blacked out or boarded over, contributing to the sense of oppression she had experienced in the city.

Edward Hawley, the wizard overseeing the handful of witches and wizards who quietly safeguarded the royal family, Prime Minister, and other key members of the British government, huddled with her in a small room in Windsor, his wand lit and held aloft over a small piece of parchment. 'You'll spend two days here, and two days back at the house, then come back.' He glanced at her apologetically. 'I am sorry you have to share your quarters with the Yanks, but it was the best we could do at the time.'

'They're fine.' Minerva fingered the edge of the parchment, inexplicably annoyed at Hawley's assumption it was a hardship to stay with the boys. 'So I'm to follow the queen and only the queen?'

'Yes. We can explain you as some sort of secretary. There's an older witch with the Princesses. Publicly, she's their tutor.' Hawley paused. 'The royal living quarters are charmed. We're doing the best we can at Buckingham, but it's just so bloody big. Their Majesties' offices are, of course, charmed as well.

'Of course.'

'If you must perform magic, for God's sake, try not to be seen. And only in case of the most dire emergency,' Edward ordered sternly.

'Understood.'

'You'll sleep in the room at the end of the corridor. I'll give you the rest of the tour tomorrow. Get some sleep.'

xxxxxx

Minerva quickly ate her breakfast and took up a post outside the dining room. She felt her brows rise in astonishment. The royal family ate no better than she and boys did in west London - even they were subject to the rationing that gripped the rest of the country. They talked and laughed like any other normal family. Occasionally, the King paused and stumbled over a word here and there. The Queen often touched his hand or arm, gifting him with rosy smiles obviously meant only for him. Minerva looked away quickly, feeling as if she were intruding on a private moment.

Presently, the Queen strode out of the dining room, adjusting the gloves on her hands. Minerva eyed the older woman's frock appraisingly. Her innate sense of Scottish thrift nearly gasped aloud at how much such a fine dress would have cost. The Queen paused in front of a mirror to don a matching hat. She looked at Minerva's reflection. 'Yes, I know. It is a bit much. However, every child in that orphanage will have been scrubbed within an inch of their lives. The very least I can do is return the favor.'

'Of course, Your Majesty.'

Queen Elizabeth chuckled lightly. 'Come on, Miss McGonagall. Let's go and cheer up some orphans.'

xxxxxx

Minerva hung back and watched as dozens of painfully neat children stood in a line. The little girls bobbed in dainty curtsies, while the boys did their best imitations of a courtly bow, their small faces a study in earnest solemnity. Queen Elizabeth graciously accepted the girls' offered bouquets, scraggly as they were, and said a few kind words of thanks, touching the child's cheek with gentle fingers. The babies she cuddled, tickling their rounded chins, patiently unwinding curious fingers from the customary strand of pearls. Minerva was taken aback by the reactions of everyone from the matrons to the babes in arms. They seemed to adore the Queen.

She didn't remember much of British Muggle history, but she did recall British monarchs were mostly figureheads. Symbols. But even Minerva knew how powerful a mere symbol could be. The queen didn't have to traipse about England, visiting orphanages and wounded soldiers and sailors. She could have taken her daughters and fled to Canada, to safety. But no. She chose to stay and experience the fear that insidiously crept into their souls alongside her countrymen and women. And somehow, Queen Elizabeth found the courage to smile in the face of fear.

It was an image that would prove to linger in Minerva's mind.

xxxxxx

'I need ye to show me how to do that trick wi' my wand.' Minerva stood over the sofa, where Jack sprawled with a newspaper.

Jack sat up, messily folding the paper in half. 'What? Now?'

'No. When the bloody war's over. Of course now,' Minerva snapped.

Jack rubbed his hands over his face. 'After dinner,' he promised. 'We'll get started.' He pushed himself to his feet. 'When do you go back to Buckingham?'

'Friday morning.'

'I suppose it'll give you something to work on while you're there.'

'What is that supposed to mean, precisely?' Minerva seethed. 'That it isna somethin' I can learn because I'm dimwitted?'

'Because it's hard,' Jack retorted stiffly. 'If it was easy, everyone could do it.'

xxxxxx

Jack closed the door of the sitting room, and motioned for Minerva to sit in one of the straight-backed chairs. 'Right or left handed?' he asked.

'Right.'

Jack sat in the other chair and began unfasten the cuffs of his shirt, carefully working the buttons through the buttonholes, then rolled up his sleeves. He slid his wand from a vivid scarlet leather holster strapped to his forearm. 'Made from the hide of a Chinese Fireball,' he told her as he unbuckled the small golden buckles. 'Gift from my parents when I completed the Auror training.'

'It's verra nice,' Minerva murmured politely.

'Roll up your sleeves,' Jack ordered.

'Why?'

'Do you want to learn how to do this or not?' Jack sighed. 'I'm really not in the mood to argue with you all night.'

Minerva's lips pressed together in a thin line. She fumbled with the buttons on the sleeve of her shirt, fingertips slipping and sliding over the small, slick button. She managed to push them through the buttonholes and folded the cuff back, pushing the sleeve up. Jack leaned forward and bound the straps of the holster to her arm. Minerva jerked her arm away. 'I can do that,' she muttered.

'Did anyone ever tell you that you're stubborn?' Jack asked conversationally.

'All the time,' Minerva replied evenly.

'Can I see your wand?'

'Why d'ye need t' see my wand?'

Jack huffed impatiently. 'Listen... This isn't going to get very far if you question every damn thing I try to do. Out of the two of us, I'm the only one that knows what to do. So, you can let me get things set up properly, or I'm going to get up, go up to my bedroom, and get some sleep. Your choice.' Minerva tapped her fingers on her knee, then slowly held her wand out to Jack. He took it with an admiring hum. 'Nice. Where'd you get it?'

'Diagon Alley. At Ollivander's.'

'This is fantastic craftsmanship,' Jack murmured. 'Maybe we can go have a look at his place when we get some time...' He wrapped a hand around her wrist, and extended her arm, until it was nearly straight. Jack twirled Minerva's wand in his fingers until the handle pointed toward her shoulder and slipped it into the small loops of the holster. The tip of the wand rested just inside her wrist.

'I dinna snap my fingers verra well,' Minerva blurted.

'What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?' Jack chuckled, strangely pleased that she would admit what must have felt like a personal failing.

'In the Underground, when ye did this, ye snapped your fingers...'

'Just a flourish.' Jack snagged a cushion from the sofa and tossed it across the room. 'Let's try a Summoning charm first.'

'Oh, gie me summat hard, aye?'

'Do you ever notice the more emotional you get, the stronger your accent gets?'

'I dinna hae an accent.'

'Yeah, sure. And Eleanor Roosevelt and I are chums. Just try Summoning that pillow, okay?'

Minerva snorted and threw her arm out. Dark blue sparks shot from the tip and blasted a layer of wallpaper from the wall. She blinked. 'Bloody hell.'

Jack leaned forward. 'I wondered if anything was under that ugly floral paper. That's even worse,' he pronounced, shuddering at the lurid striped wallpaper. 'You can't really do any moves, like when you're casting a spell the regular way. You have to think about the wand movement, almost like doing nonverbal magic.'

'I can do nonverbal magic,' Minerva protested.

'This isn't nonverbal magic, sweetheart.' Jack moved his chair to sit behind Minerva's. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders. Instantaneously, her shoulders rose in a defensive posture. 'Relax,' he told her softly.

Minerva's shoulders tensed. 'I am relaxed,' she countered.

'As relaxed as a plank of wood.' Jack's fingers glided over the slope of the ridged muscle from the base of her neck to the edge of her shoulders. The fingers swept across her back once more, searching for something. He found the spot he wanted, and began to apply pressure with his thumbs. 'Just breathe,' he murmured soothingly.

Minerva huffed impatiently, feeling the muscles in her shoulders tighten slightly under Jack's ministrations. 'I am breathin',' she muttered resentfully.

Jack's hands unfurled to rest softly over Minerva's shoulder blades. 'Jesus, you need to relax. You won't be able to master this if you're so stiff I could bounce a quarter off your back.' He pressed his hands lightly to her back. 'Take a deep breath. In-two-three-four,' he instructed softly. 'Out-two-three-four... Close your eyes... Keep breathing,' he chanted quietly. Minerva dutifully closed her eyes inhaled and exhaled according to Jack's murmurs. Her chin fell forward a little and her shoulders dropped a little, then a little more. His hands slipped to her neck, massaging the ridged muscles, then slowly moved to her shoulders, then back. There was nothing remotely sexual about Jack's actions, but it still felt remarkably intimate to Minerva. It was mildly disconcerting. Jack's hands slid slowly up to her shoulders, resting weightlessly on them. He leaned forward until his mouth was just behind her ear. 'Try it again.'

Keeping her eyes closed, Minerva let her arm float up, until her hand was nearly shoulder-height, picturing the wand movements in her head. Taking one more deep breath, she let her eyes open a little, then whispered, 'Accio...'

The pillow moved forward a bare foot. She grinned with ill-disguised glee.

'Good job,' Jack said approvingly. 'It took me weeks to get pack of cards to move more than a few inches.' He patted Minerva on the back. 'Do it again.'

xxxxxx

A/N: I did borrow a bit of dialogue from The King's Speech (excellent movie, if you haven't had a chance to see it, by the way). I did as much research as I could into the life of the Queen Mum and what she did during the war. I hope I was able to capture her, even a little bit.

I have no idea what the royal family's daily routine was like, and I've probably taken a few liberties. I hope you don't mind. But the impression I got from my research was that King George VI and Queen Elizabeth were probably somewhat hands-on as parents. Apologies if I'm totally off-base, and if I am, please feel free to PM me and let me know, along with suggestions about how to portray them.