In the Light Of the Stars

Tony held an envelope loosely in his hand, staring at Minerva's bedroom door. His feet shuffled uneasily on the landing. Oh, get a grip, he thought to himself. You're about to learn how to jump out of a perfectly safe airplane and you're scared to approach an eighteen year-old witch... He took the necessary steps to stand in front of the door and knocked firmly. Minerva opened the door a little, peering through the small gap. 'Aye? Is there somethin' ye needed?'

'Could I talk to you for a moment? Privately?' Tony asked.

'Of course...' Minerva stepped back and gestured for Tony to enter the room.

'I'm sorry for disturbing you,' Tony mumbled. 'I know you just came off duty from Windsor...'

'It's quite all right.' Minerva motioned for Tony to sit on the straight-backed chair by the door. 'Please. Sit.'

Tony gingerly sat on the edge of the chair. 'I was wondering if you could do something for me...?'

'I could try.'

Tony held out the letter. 'In case something happens to me, could you get this to my parents?' Minerva eased it from his fingers, cradling it between her palms. 'I mean, the Army will send them something official. Or the American Ministry will. Either way, I want this one to get to them.'

'Dinna be ridiculous,' Minerva tried to scoff, but her voice cracked a little. 'Naught will happen to ye.'

Tony laughed hollowly. 'That's what I like to try and tell myself. But chances are pretty good I'll end up with a serious case of dead. And I'd rather have that letter written and have to burn it when the war's over, than get shot somewhere in France or Holland and die without saying what I said in it.'

'Shouldn't Jack handle this?'

Tony waved off her concerns. 'Jack'll have his hands full. I don't want to bother him.'

'I'll see to it your parents receive this,' Minerva promised.

Tony's smile lit the dim room. 'Thanks.' He started to stand but sank back down. 'Did you and Jack have a fight or something?'

'Dinna be ridiculous,' Minerva retorted tartly.

'The last couple of weeks, when you're here, when you come into a room, he leaves.' Tony shrugged. 'But if you say nothing's wrong...'

'There isna,' Minerva insisted.

'Okay.' Tony did stand then, and opened the door. 'Thanks again, Min.' He surprised himself and her by leaning over and giving her a quick, brotherly kiss on the cheek. He ran headlong into Jack on the landing. 'Whatever you did, apologize,' Tony ordered.

'I didn't do anything,' Jack corrected coldly.

Tony shook his head and headed down the stairs. 'She's the only girl we know that will stand up to you. And she's a match for you intellectually. Don't know many witches like that back home.' He stopped on the bottom step and looked back at Jack. 'When the two of you get married, name your firstborn son after me, won't you? Just something to remember me by, hmm?'

Jack trailed after Tony. 'Why do you keep talking like you're going to die?' he demanded.

'Just trying to be prepared.'

'And I'm not marrying her,' Jack huffed.

'Why not? She's a peach.'

'You're insane.'

'Yeah, that jumping out of planes idea isn't very sane, is it?'

'Goddammit, Tony!'

Tony gazed at Jack somberly. 'Look, in a few weeks, Frankie and me'll be assigned to our regiments permanently, and it'll be just you, Reg, and Minnie in the house. And Reggie and Minnie don't get along really well unless you play referee. And if you and Minnie are on the outs, then it's gonna be a damn long war for her. She'll be lonely.'

'So?'

'So. If it was my sister, I'd want someone to look after her. And I'll bet you'd want the same thing.'

Jack gawked at Tony for several moments. He didn't in any way, shape, or form think of Minerva as a sister. And that was the problem. But he managed to choke, 'Yeah... sure...'

Tony rummaged through the cupboard and unearthed two bottles of beer he'd managed to acquire from the PX. 'Want one?'

'Yeah.'

Tony tapped the bottles with his wand, chilling the liquid inside, then handed one to Jack. 'So nothing happened in Scotland with Minnie, huh?'

Jack paused with his beer halfway to his lips. 'For the eight hundredth time, Tony, nothing happened...' he sighed resignedly.

'Okay...'

'What were you doing in her bedroom, anyway?' Jack blurted, suspicion coloring his inquiry.

'I thought you didn't care,' Tony said blandly.

'I don't.'

Tony leaned against the kitchen counter. 'Well, in that case, I fed her the line about not wanting to die a virgin, and we made passionate love on the eve of my heading off to battle.'

Jack's face flushed with nascent anger, before he realized the utter ridiculousness of Tony's statement. Tony hadn't been in Minerva's room for more than a few minutes. 'Not funny.'

Tony chuckled sipping his beer. 'Totally worth it to see you get worked up.' He reached into the pocket of his jacket. 'This came for you earlier,' he said, tossing Jack a small parcel.

'Thanks.' Jack slipped it into an inner pocket of his jacket without opening the package.

'Do you know when...?'

'Maybe early summer. I can't tell you any more than that.'

'That much of a secret?' Tony couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

'I don't really know.' Jack propped his feet up in the opposite chair. 'It's going to depend on a lot of things we can't control. But try telling the Muggles that,' he grumbled.

'Do you think it's going to work?'

'I hope so.' Jack shuddered. Their contacts on the Continent were managing to hold on, but after nearly four years of war, it was starting to wear on them. Like all of them, they could only do so much, and what they couldn't do - and who they couldn't save - hung heavily on their conscience. 'Just try and make it back in one piece, okay?'

'Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise.'

Jack finished his beer and jabbed his wand at the bottle. 'Going to bed. Endless hours of rehashing the same things over and over tomorrow.' He ran lightly up the stairs, pausing on the landing outside Minerva's bedroom. The parcel in his pocket rustled softly and Jack knocked quietly on the door.

Minerva flung her hairbrush to the bed and stomped to the door. 'What is this? Bleedin' King's... Cross...?' Her voice died as she yanked open the door. She had changed into her nightdress and her arms crossed protectively over her chest, despite the fact it revealed less than her ATS uniform. 'Jack,' she murmured by way of a greeting.

Jack reached into his jacket and held the package out to her. 'This just came today. It's a little late, but Merry Christmas.' Perplexed, Minerva carefully opened the package and parted the brown paper wrappings revealing a smaller version of the dragon hide wand holster Jack wore, but in iridescent shades of blue with silver buckles. 'I got it from the same place my parents got mine,' he told her. 'But I thought the blue would suit you better.'

'Swedish Short-Snout, is it?'

'Yeah.'

Minerva bit her lip in consternation. 'I didna get anythin' for you.'

'It's okay.'

'Thank you. It's lovely.'

Jack leaned against the doorframe. 'Minerva, about what happened Christmas Eve...'

'There isna anythin' to discuss,' she said firmly.

Jack felt an unexpected stab in his stomach. 'Right. Yeah...' He straightened. 'I'm glad you like the holster.' He darted up the stairs to his bedroom on the top floor, refusing to look back. If he had, he might have seen the sad, wistful expression briefly drift over Minerva's face.

xxxxxx

Minerva shook her right arm slightly. The holster felt odd strapped to her arm, almost alien. But she figured she would grow accustomed to it. It wasn't unpleasant, despite the unfamiliar sensation. It reminded her of the first time she had worn a wristwatch.

She sat in a small chair of her assigned bedroom at Windsor, Dumbledore's books piled in front of her. She had put mild Muggle-Repelling charms on them, and had practiced Jack's method of casting spells without actually holding her wand by putting Freezing charms on the pictures when she heard footsteps approaching the room, as she did now. A soft, tentative knock sounded on the door. Minerva set the book she had been reading down and answered the door. 'Your Highness,' she blurted, quickly dropping a curtsey. Princess Margaret stood, wide-eyed, in the corridor.

'Mummy said we weren't to bother you, Miss McGonagall,' Margaret said quickly.

'It's no bother,' Minerva said smoothly, tugging at the cuff of her nightdress to ensure the holster was completely covered. 'Is there something I can do for you, ma'am?'

'I can't sleep and I saw your light was still on.'

'I'm sure I can find some milk for ye, ma'am.' Minerva wondered if the princess was hungry, which was likely, given the effect of rationing on a child. Margaret wrinkled her nose and shook her head, making her shiny curls bounce. 'Erm... Would ye like to come in for a bit and talk a little?' Minerva asked dubiously. Margaret nodded and edged into Minerva's small bedroom. Minerva indicated the chair she'd recently vacated and waited for Margaret to perch on it, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Margaret's gaze fell on Minerva's hands, folded in her lap, resting on the dark red wool of her dressing gown. 'Are you married, Miss McGonagall?' she asked curiously.

Minerva smiled with gentle humor. 'Seeing as you call me "Miss McGonagall", you ought to be able to answer that question, ma'am.'

Margaret colored in mortification. 'I do apologize. It's just your ring...'

Minerva looked down, fingers straightening and the silver gleamed in the dim light. 'I was engaged.' The left hand returned to her lap and the right hand landed on top of it, hiding the ring from view. 'But not anymore.'

'What happened?'

'He enlisted in the Army and was sent to North Africa,' Minerva said evenly. 'Died a year ago.'

The girlish romantic light in Margaret's eyes muted. 'I'm sorry for your loss,' she murmured.

Minerva inhaled slowly. It still hurt, but it had dulled considerably from the acute ache of a year ago. 'Thank you.'

Margaret fiddled with the sash of her own dressing gown. 'What was his name?'

'Alasdair MacDonald.' Minerva chuckled softly. 'He wore a kilt from time to time.'

'How did you meet him?'

'I was sixteen and home from school for the summer and he nearly ran over me with his infernal bicycle.' Minerva's cheeks flushed. 'He hauled me to my feet, brushed me off, apologized a hundred times.' Minerva shrugged. 'The rest, as they say, is history.'

'Do you think you'll find someone else?' Margaret sighed wistfully, with all the hope in her thirteen year-old heart.

Minerva started a little. 'One can hope, Your Highness,' she said, recovering her aplomb. Margaret smiled dreamily, stifling a yawn. 'And I believe it's time for you to return to your bed, ma'am.' Minerva rose to her feet. 'I'll walk ye back.'

xxxxxx

Flopping back to the sofa cushions, Minerva let the heavy book fall to the floor. She felt as if she were traveling in circles. It was nearly March, and she was no closer to becoming an Animagus than she was at the end of December. 'It's hopeless,' she groaned.

'What is?' Jack had lurked in the doorway, watching her frown and mutter over the pile of books she carried with her everywhere.

Minerva jerked in alarm at the unexpected noise. 'I canna do this,' she said morosely, yanking the pins from her hair and savagely twisting it into a knot. 'My hair willna stay pinned oot o' th' way... There isna a bloody incantation for all that bleedin' nonsense, I hae a splittin' headache, an', it's all a flamin' lot o' theory.'

'Theory shouldn't be a problem for you,' Jack said.

Minerva glared at him over the back of the sofa. 'It isna one theory,' she spat. 'Ye ask one wizard, an' ye get ten theories in return.' She heaved herself off the sofa and stomped to the stairs. 'It's enough to make a person snap their wand in twa,' she ground out between clenched teeth. She charged up the staircase to the bathroom, rolling up the sleeve of her shirt. Once her wand was exposed, she unbuckled the holster and slid her wand out, like a warrior preparing for battle. Curious, Jack stealthily followed her, wondering if she was going to use her wand to smash small objects. He hung back, a few steps below the landing so she wouldn't see him. Minerva swept into the bathroom, and tried slamming the door shut, but it bounced back. 'Sod it,' she grumbled, shaking her head so the pins slid out and her hair tumbled to her shoulders. She gathered it in one hand, then pointed her wand at the mass of hair.

'Don't do that!' Jack protested, leaning into the bathroom.

Minerva met his gaze coolly, then made a slashing motion with her wand. She opened her fist and the shorn tresses drifted to the floor. She waved her wand at the floor and the glossy dark locks of hair disappeared, then flounced from the bathroom, hair swinging just below her shoulders, brushing past Jack. Something caught his attention and he stooped, narrowly avoiding the edge of the sink. A single lock of hair had escaped Minerva's Vanishing charm. Jack picked it up and wound it around his finger, then murmured a soft Sticking charm. He slipped the lock of hair off his finger and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt. Jack trudged down the stairs, pausing on the landing outside Minerva's small bedroom. The door was ajar and she stood in front of the scrap of a mirror hanging on the wall, running her hands through her hair. She looked as if she might cry at any second. Jack drew back into the shadows, watching her stare at her reflection with something akin to trepidation.

'My sister's got hair like yours,' Jack blurted.

Minerva spun stiffly around. 'Go away.'

'My sister, Eileen, has hair like yours. Won't stay up or back for anything. Always in her face. My mom used to use Sticking charms, because Eileen didn't like anyone fussing with her hair. So usually, Mom just did two braids and charmed her hair to stay in place.' Jack scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. Minerva was still eyeing him like he was something unpleasant on the sole of her own boots. 'When she got older, Eileen'd do it up in one of those net things, but she still used Sticking charms...' Jack coughed. 'Just a suggestion...'

Minerva nodded wordlessly, tucking her hair behind her ear. It felt strange to not have the waist-length mass of hair brushing over her back. 'Could ye help me with the spell?' she asked in a low voice. She hated to ask for help. It made her feel vulnerable - an emotion with which she preferred to remain nodding acquaintances.

'I thought you'd never ask.' Jack tilted his head toward the staircase. 'Let's go downstairs. It's more comfortable.

xxxxxx

Jack sprawled across the rug, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa. 'So let me get this straight... It all boils down to introspection?' He began to laugh - deep rolling guffaws that echoed around the small sitting room.

'Partially,' Minerva said wearily, twining a lock of hair around her finger.

'No wonder most witches or wizards don't care to become one,' Jack commented. 'You almost can't do this, unless you're willing to be completely honest with yourself...'

'Aye...'

'And what else do you do?'

Minerva heaved a sigh and slid to the floor, joining Jack on the braided rag rug. 'That is where it get confusin'. There isna a spell, like I said.' She rested her head against the seat of the sofa. 'Correction. There is. Ye hae to create it, because the form ye tae is unique to ye.'

'Oh... That could get dicey. What if something goes wrong?'

'Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's,' Minerva replied promptly. She toyed the laces of her boots. 'So I dinna suppose ye ken how to create a spell, do ye?'

Jack shook his head. 'I'm an Auror, not an Unspeakable. Didn't that teacher of yours have any books about that in the pile he gave you on Christmas?'

'No.'

Jack snorted contemptuously. 'And he's a teacher? Is he any good?'

Minerva drew herself up. 'Professor Dumbledore is a fine teacher.'

'In which universe?' Jack argued. 'Damn it, Minerva, he's asked you to do something that could land you in the hospital for Merlin knows how long, and he didn't give you all the tools to do it with. In my book, lady, that's an accident waiting to happen.' Jack sat up and leaned closer to Minerva. 'What kind of teacher does that?'

Minerva's eyes widened. 'You're talking about a man who's considered to be one of the greatest wizards in Britain,' she hissed.

Jack fell back to the floor with a resounding thud. 'If he's so great, why is he going to let his best student do something with only half the information she needs? Hmmm?' He squarely met her gaze. 'Promise me you'll find someone who can help you with the spellwork.'

'Och, aye,' Minerva drawled sarcastically. 'Unspeakables are spread so thick on the ground, I'll just go out right now and find one.'

'I'll ask around,' Jack allowed. 'See if someone knows someone,' he intoned. 'As soon as possible.'

Minerva straightened at the sudden serious tone Jack's voice took. 'Why? What do ye know?'

Jack closed his eyes to block out her pensive expression. 'That deadline your teacher gave you?' He managed to infuse the word "teacher" with enough scorn to spread on toast. 'It's in advance of the invasion.' His hand patted blindly for hers and rested lightly on top of Minerva's, feeling her prominent, bony knuckles against his palm. She had her fists clenched. 'They're hoping for June, which is why you need to learn how to do this in about three more months.'

'And why is it so important that I in particular become an Animagus?'

Jack shifted uneasily. 'They should have told you,' he began. 'We're not sure what Germany's going to do if the invasion is successful. They could start bombing England again, or make an effort to take out the King and Queen. If you become something small and ordinary enough, you can get places regular guards can't.' His eyes drifted open. 'And if anyone can do it, Minerva, you can. You're certainly stubborn enough.'

'There's a compliment buried in there, I'm sure of it.'

'I'll help you as much as I can,' Jack vowed. 'You're nearly as important as the wizards embedded with the infantry and paratroopers. You can't win a war without the support of the homefront. And keeping that family out of harm's way is vital to the British war effort.'

Minerva felt her blood run cold.

What if she failed?