In the Light Of the Stars

Minerva trudged into the house, stopping just inside the door to remove her boots. She dropped them with a grateful sigh, and padded into the house. 'Great! You're home!' Jack bounded through the house with the energy of thirteen year-old who'd been allowed to eat too much sugar. 'Where do you get buttermilk around this Godforsaken place?'

'I haven't the slightest idea,' Minerva said irritably. 'Why do ye need buttermilk?'

Jack gazed at her as if she was a dimwitted idiot. 'To soak the chicken, of course,' he said as if it was information everybody knew. She closed her eyes, gathering the shreds of patience that remained for the day and inhaled.

'Why are ye soakin' chicken in buttermilk?'

'Oh, right. You haven't been here... Reggie's mom sent a care package from home. I'm still not sure how she did it, but she sent a chicken!'

'When was the last time we had chicken?' Minerva asked dreamily.

'Weeks and weeks ago...'

Reggie emerged from the kitchen, waving a piece of parchment at them. 'Mama says we can add a few tablespoons to vinegar to milk and let it sit for a while if we can't get buttermilk. Says it won't be the same, but it's better than nothin'.'

'In that case,' Jack said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, 'the question that remains is: powdered or evaporated?'

'Evaporated,' Reggie blurted. 'Closer to real milk than the powdered crap,' he added defensively.

Minerva folded her arms over her chest and glared Jack and Reggie. 'Nobody's explained to me yet why chicken needs to be soaked in buttermilk,' she said in exasperation.

Reggie paused in his discussion with Jack about dinner preparations. 'I'm makin' fried chicken. Just like my mama makes. Well, not quite, but it's gonna be damn close.' He bustled back into the kitchen. 'We got enough cookin' oil?'

'I think so. We were saving it up when Tony and Frankie were here,' Jack replied, following Reggie into the kitchen. Minerva trailed curiously after them. A whole chicken sat on the table, glistening under the overhead light. 'Did she send cayenne, too?'

Reggie rummaged in a parcel, coming up with an envelope. 'Yep.'

'Can I help?' Minerva asked.

'Out!' Reggie ordered. 'The both of you. You'll just get underfoot...' he grumbled, pointing his wand at the chicken, and it neatly carved itself into different pieces.

Jack cupped one of Minerva's elbows and guided her back into the sitting room. 'He's going to be a while,' Jack informed her, studying her face in the wan beam of sunlight that penetrated an open blackout curtain. 'When was the last time you slept?'

'Last night,' Minerva scoffed.

'Doesn't look like it.'

'Have you looked in a mirror lately? You dinna look like the picture o' health, either,' she shot back.

'Yeah, but I'm not the one working on trying to change myself into something else.' Jack leaned against the wall, eyeing her. 'How is that coming, by the way?'

Minerva touched the pocket of her jacket. It crackled softly. 'I think I might...'

Jack's eyes flicked to her pocket and back. 'Have you tried it?' he demanded.

'No. I didna want to try it alone the first time.'

'I know you don't listen to me if you can help it, but maybe you ought to wait until tomorrow.'

'Why?'

'So you can at least try to get some sleep before you attempt it.' As her eyes narrowed, Jack added, 'That's an order.'

'Ye dinna gie me orders,' Minerva hissed.

'I don't feel like trying to find your damned hospital in a blackout,' Jack countered. 'Go lie down until dinner's ready.' He stifled a sigh at the visible stiffening of her body. 'If you want, you could go have a nap or something until dinner's ready,' he amended.

Minerva drew herself up to her full height and gazed regally at Jack. 'I believe I shall,' she returned in her plummiest tones, then spun on a socked heel and swept up the stairs.

An hour later, Minerva stared at a pile of golden, crispy chicken. She primly placed a piece on her plate, along with a mound of mashed potatoes, and runner beans. She examined the chicken, as she picked up her knife and fork. 'You don't eat it with a knife and fork,' Reggie said, pointedly picking up his own piece with his fingers.

Scandalized, Minerva stabbed the chicken with her fork, sawing through the coating, then using the tip of her knife to pry it off. 'You have to try it,' Jack said, nudging her hand. 'The skin's the best part.'

Gingerly, Minerva ate the bite of chicken, cautiously chewing while the boys watched her from the corners of their eyes. 'It's good,' she said, swallowing. Then the cayenne laced through the coating began to assert itself. Minerva sniffled a little, then gingerly ate another bite of chicken. Soon her nose was running freely, but she didn't dare say anything, gulping down the glass of water at her elbow, desperately hoping it would quench the burning in her mouth.

'Thirsty?' Jack asked, amusement wreathing his face.

'Not at all,' Minerva gasped, setting the glass down, and pointing her wand at it, refilling it with water.

Reggie chuckled. 'Guess I should've warned you,' he said without a hint of sympathy.

Minerva glared at Jack. 'How can ye stand it?' she demanded.

Jack shrugged, taking a large bite of his chicken. He chewed with obvious delight. 'My dad smears everything with wasabi if it sits still long enough.' He smirked at her. 'That stuff'll make you feel like you've died, and if you're not dead, you'll wish you were.' He bit off another bite of chicken. 'After that, cayenne's child's play.'

'Show off,' Minerva muttered ungraciously, scooping up a forkful of mashed potatoes. The fork hovered just outside her lips. 'Is this as spicy as the chicken?' she asked archly.

Reggie shook his head. 'Naw. It's all right.'

With a slightly elevated brow, Minerva inserted the fork into her mouth. After the chicken, the potatoes were nearly bland. She could feel sweat break out along her hairline and above her upper lip. 'You all right?' Jack asked, peering at her across the table.

'I'm fine,' she replied stiffly, in a manner reminiscent of the first few days she lived in the house, convinced they had given her a piece of chicken that was deliberately spicier than the others. If so, she wasn't about to give either of them the satisfaction of knowing her mouth felt scorched.

xxxxxx

Minerva handed Jack the folded square of parchment. 'If I canna complete the transformation, make sure ye've got this wi' ye when ye take me to St. Mungo's.' She shrugged a little. 'Give them somewhere to start, at least.'

'Are you sure you're ready?' Jack asked dubiously.

'It's now or never, aye?' Minerva walked to the center of the room with a measure gait, wand balanced easily in her hand. Jack sat in the one comfortable armchair he'd pushed against the wall, nervously watching her settle in the exact center of the rug.

Minerva turned so her back was to Jack. Her eyes closed and she took several slow, deep breaths. Callida liberia. Tectissimus taciturna. Aptatus elongare. Over and over she chanted the phrases to herself, trying to picture an animal that matched those qualities. Slowly, she felt herself shrink, until she was nearly sprawled on the floor. She felt lighter, with coiled energy spiraling in the pit of her stomach. Minerva opened her eyes, then immediately closed them to slits against the bright light. She looked around curiously. Everything seemed faded, except the purple flowers woven into the rug. They stood out starkly compared to the others. Her nose twitched under the assault of various scents. The stale odor of cooking, the underlying scent of sour sweat and fear. Unwashed laundry. The musky aroma of Jack.

'Jesus H. Christ,' Jack whispered, but to Minerva's sensitive ears, he might as well have yelled.

Minerva rose unsteadily to her feet and minced around the edge of the rug. Balanced. Alert. She returned to the center of the rug and pictured herself. Tall, wavy hair tumbling into her eyes, proudly erect posture, eyes gazing over the rims of her glasses. She stretched and lengthened, mouth agape, drawing as much oxygen into her lungs as possible.

'Cat,' Jack said in soft awe. 'Tabby. Grey with black stripes. Marks around your eyes, like your glasses...'

'Like the one my mum had when I was small...' Minerva straightened her shoulders and blew her hair determinedly from her face. 'Again...'

With each transformation, Minerva was able to do it just a little faster each time, until after several hours, she was able to do it nearly in the blink of an eye. But it wasn't quite good enough. 'Hex me,' she said to Jack, still sitting nervously in the armchair.

'I beg your pardon!' he blurted, aghast.

'I said hex me,' Minerva replied, her tenuous grip on her patience shredding.

Jack stood up and crossed the sitting room, taking Minerva's chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. 'You need to stop,' he told her. 'Get something to eat. Drink some water.'

'Not yet.'

'Do you want to get sick?'

'Not particularly.'

'Then stop and take a damn break!' Jack shouted.

'Not until you hex me.' Minerva pushed back Jack's sleeve, revealing his wand. 'I need to learn how to do this in a pressure situation, no?'

'Yeah...'

Minerva's fingers worked the straps of his wand holster, stripping it from Jack's arm. 'So, hex me...' she urged, fingers lightly stroking his wand.

Jack's eyes closed briefly, and he offered up a short, fervent prayer. 'Okay,' he breathed. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Minerva's dark eyes, gleaming in triumph. 'Then you take a break,' he ordered.

'Verra well.'

Jack plucked his wand from her hand and spun on one heel. Without warning, he lashed a jinx across the room. Minerva barely had time to react, disappearing just as the jet of blue light blazed where her head had been. Minerva bounded to the windowsill, where she sat daintily, tail waving insouciantly. Jack growled softly and flicked another hex, aiming for the tip of that infuriatingly undulating tail. Minerva lightly leapt out of the window, balancing on the edge of the mantle over the fireplace. Tilting her head, she jumped off the mantle, transforming in mid-air, landing in a crouch, wand pointed at Jack. 'Fantastic,' he pronounced. 'Take a break.'

Minerva carelessly swiped the sleeve of her shirt over her face, drying the layer of sweat that glazed her skin. 'Not yet,' she said.

'Damn it, Minerva!' Jack exploded.

'Aye?' she asked mildly.

Jack ran his hand through his hair. 'I won't stay here and watch you wear yourself out.' He yanked the door open.

'Hex me again,' Minerva called. 'I ken it's killin' ye to hae missed me so much,' she taunted, smiling with the flavor of victory on her tongue. She knew Jack's pride wouldn't let him walk away. Her impudence paid off in spades. Jack stiffened and slowly turned around.

'I meant to miss you,' he informed her coldly.

'I dinna believe that any more than I can throw ye.'

Jack's eyes narrowed. 'I'm going to get something to eat. I'm hungry. I suggest you do the same.'

'D'ye plan to return?'

'You'll just have to wait and find out,' Jack retorted, stomping to the kitchen.

xxxxxx

Shadows slanted across the sitting room when Jack forcibly pried the wand from Minerva's stiff fingers. 'Enough,' he told her sternly. 'You haven't had anything to eat since breakfast.' He flicked his own wand at the blackout curtains, shrouding them in darkness. Minerva started to argue, but her head swam with weariness. She carefully unfolded her body until she stood, swaying on the rug. She surreptitiously rubbed her throbbing bottom. The last hex Jack sent at her Animagus form had singed the base of her tail. Her hair was sodden with sweat and her skin was clammy with it, so her clothes clung damply to her body. Minerva took a cautious step forward and promptly pitched forward, eyes rolled back in her head. Jack caught her before she could fall. He shoved both their wands into his pocket, and leaned down to slide his free arm under Minerva's knees, lifting her in his arms, staggering only a little. 'Silly, stubborn woman,' he grumbled, hefting her into a more comfortable position, head cradled against his shoulder. 'Should have stopped when I told you to.'

Jack stalked up the stairs to Minerva's small bedroom and nudged the door open. He stooped and laid her inert body over the bed, removing her shoes and glasses, setting the latter on the chair next to the bed. He stood for several long moments, watching her sleep, before he unthinkingly pulled her wand from his pocket instead of his, and waved it over her. Glowing words drifted over her and Jack nodded in satisfaction. She had just pushed herself past her limits. A good sleep and a decent meal when she woke up would go a long way toward restoring her to normal. He started to slip the wand back in his pocket, but started when he realized it was Minerva's. 'That's funny,' he mused. 'Wands aren't supposed to work very well if it's not yours...' He set it on the chair next to her glasses and took a step back, but paused, and brushed a lock of hair away from her face, picturing her in the hammock in his parents' garden, the honeyed California sun sending dappled shadows over her face. One finger traced the outline of her mouth, remembering the whisky-soaked tang of that one, brief kiss, body rousing painfully at the memory. Her breathing hitched, and Jack quickly stepped back, yanking his hand away as if he'd been burned.

This was not supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to want her like this.

xxxxxx

Hunger pangs woke Minerva in the wee hours of the morning. She opened her eyes to the oppressive darkness generated by the blackout curtains and patted blindly for her wand. Her fingers wrapped around the handle and she muttered, 'Lumos.' The beam of light cut through the gloom and she searched for her glasses. They were on the chair next to the bed, and she had a brief moment of disorientation. She didn't remember coming up to bed. The last thing she did remember was...

'Oh bluidy hell,' she hissed, pressing her fingers to her gritty eyes. 'Please tell me I didna faint in front of him...' Minerva pushed the glasses on her nose and swung her feet to the floor. She was famished. It irritated her to have to acknowledge Jack was right. She should have stopped and at least had a bite of something. In fact, she was going to slip downstairs and see if there was something readily available in the kitchen. Reggie had brought home some strawberries that afternoon. And she was relatively certain there was still bread. Tea, and she would reconstitute some of the powdered milk, too. She went down the stairs, annoyed at how her knees trembled. She hated showing any sort of weakness in front of people. She rarely lost her temper or had emotional breakdowns, even in the privacy within the four walls of her bedroom here or even in Scotland. At the next landing, she stopped, clinging to the banister, taking several deep breaths, then made her way to the ground floor. She wobbled to the kitchen, keeping one hand on the wall for its steady support.

The kitchen was thankfully deserted, and Minerva quickly assembled her slapdash tea. Strawberries, toast, and tea. 'My mother would be outraged,' she murmured. Minerva wasn't sure if Flora would be more put out at the condition into which Minerva put herself, or the fact she'd deliberately needled Jack into pushing her past her mental and physical limits.

'Who would be outraged?' Jack shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Minerva nearly dropped her toast. He wore nothing but a pair of olive drab boxer shorts and a sleeveless vest of nearly the same shade. She was grateful the overhead light wasn't so bright that it could reveal the blush that spread over her face. True, Jack's attire didn't reveal much more than his regular clothes, but she couldn't help but take a peek at his backside as he rummaged for a glass, filling it with water. He joined her at the table. 'Who would be outraged?' he repeated.

Minerva buried her nose in her cup of tea. 'My mother,' she muttered.

'Why?'

Carefully keeping her eyes glued to the plate on the table in front of her, Minerva said, 'Do ye always scamper about the house in your pants?'

'I'm not wearing pants...' Jack glanced down in confusion. He hadn't expected anyone to be awake, so he didn't pull on his trousers before he came down to the kitchen.

Minerva flapped a hand at him. 'Your underthings,' she said stiffly.

'Not usually.' Jack leaned back. 'So... Your mom?'

'Did I ever tell ye she died?'

'Yeah, when you first came here.'

Inasmuch as Minerva didn't like to display strong emotions in front of others, she trusted Jack to keep this to himself. After all, she'd trusted him to keep watch over her while she transformed the first time. 'It was my fault.'

'I doubt that.'

Minerva shook her head. 'I was ill wi' dragon pox. Mam didna hae it as a bairn.'

'And she caught it,' Jack surmised.

'Aye.' The single word hung between them dispassionately.

'That wasn't your fault.'

Minerva shrugged. 'Perhaps not. Da never said so, at any rate.'

'Of course he wouldn't,' Jack murmured. What little he knew of Angus McGonagall was enough to illustrate the man's character. Even muted to outsiders, Angus' fierce love for his daughter was all too evident when he had tried to make her return to Scotland last summer. Jack was all but certain Angus didn't think Minerva had anything to do with her mother's death. 'Do you remember her?'

'Some,' Minerva admitted. One hand stole to her hair, and she gathered it at the base of her neck. 'She had hair like mine. And the same color eyes. She used to sing and told me stories to keep me entertained. She never raised her voice, even though Da could make mountains tremble. I remember the way she smelled... Like... chamomile and honey. And ginger biscuits...'

'And you think she would be outraged by what...?'

'If I go by what Da told me and what I read of the letters they wrote to each other, it wouldna be livin' here. Mam would hae told Da to hae more faith in people to do the right thing. The way Da always talked about her, she was the kind of woman people look up to.' Minerva bit her lip and took a hasty sip of tea. 'Da told me I had her intelligence and cleverness.' She grinned. 'And her independence.'

'Who? You? Independent? Pfft.' Jack chuckled softly.

'Just wee bit,' Minerva said. 'When I was a girl, about to start school, Da gave me letter from Mam. She wrote it before she died...' A pensive expression flickered over Minerva's face. 'In it, she told me to always do what was right, even if it wasna the easy choice.' She lifted her mug and gulped down half her tea. 'I shamed her memory today,' she said softly.

Jack snorted. 'I think you would have made her proud at what you were able to do.'

Minerva shook her head. 'It isna that. I was unkind to ye.' One of her hands settled gently over one of his. Warmth shot through her palm and with a stifled gasp, Minerva hastily rose to her feet to cover her confusion and jabbed her wand at the dishes she'd used. They flew through the air and landed in the sink. 'She wouldna hae liked that...' Minerva fled, darting to the stairs and scurrying up to her room, managing not to slam the door shut.

Her father's words from Christmas echoed through her head. The non-fraternization rules notwithstanding, she wondered if she baited Jack on purpose to push him away. Out of the four boys, he was the one she turned to more than the rest. She trusted Jack with her life, but would she trust him with more than that? Or would she cling to her past because she felt obligated to do so?