Hope for Redress
Minerva McGonagall. 44. Deputy Headmistress. Professor of Transfiguration. Head of the Gryffindor House. Member of the Order of the Phoenix.
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As Minerva suddenly shifted, Alastor flinched, having never quite gotten used to seeing someone change into their animagus form. A soft sigh left him and he let his wand-hand drop, nodding his head tiredly.
His lips pressed into a line at her questioning, Minerva always being the persistent type- he couldn’t be surprised. His mouth opened to speak but he didn’t know what else he could say to dismiss her worries, noticing how she had scanned his current state of dress. Instead he made a low grunting noise and turned around to face the other side of the street again.
He lowered himself down onto the sidewalk, now confident he needn’t worry about the woman standing behind him. It had been so long since he last came around these parts - the door of the old house was painted red now. He wasn’t sure how many times the home had changed owners, but perhaps the unsettling memories attached to the place have been driving them away. Alastor couldn’t deny that he found that thought mildly -though also morbidly- amusing. With another sigh, he replied belatedly, eyes still locked on the house across the street, “Ah’m alright, Minerva, no attacks tonight. Needn’t get your stockings in a twist.”
Minerva pursed her lips, following his line of sight. The Muggle dress as well as her propriety kept her from sitting down on the sidewalk next to him so she stayed standing awkwardly with her arms crossed. She sighed with relief when he verified that there hadn't been any attacks, in spite of bristling a bit at the stockings comment.
"I was just worried," she said. "I mean, you can hardly blame me–– it's the middle of the night." She held her tongue, refraining from chastising him over being out and about after dark. He knew it was dangerous as well as anyone and she had been doing the same thing.
She considered asking him if he would want his nightclothes transfigured into something more suitable for being out, yet he was capable of doing that for himself. There wasn't much that she could do to help; even if he said that he was all right, it was evident that there was something wrong–– she just didn't know what. Nor did she know how to approach the subject, being intensely private herself.
"What were you doing out?" she asked again. She eyed the house that he was looking at. There hadn't been any attacks at that building, nor any investigations going on for the Order–– though she supposed it could be related to his job as an Auror. She was trying not to pry but had to wonder what was upsetting him.
A pulse of relief spread through him briefly, his grasp on his wand wavering slightly before he clenched his fist again- his distrusting nature kicking in after the short delay. He narrowed his eyes at the woman, picking out the details of her attire and appearance. It wasn’t very often that he saw Order members outside of Wizarding London - granted, he spent little time there himself - so with the muggle dress, he couldn’t quite bring himself to a dependable conclusion about her actual identity.
He gave a curt nod, watching expectantly, hoping for a validating response.
Alastor cleared his throat uncomfortably, the realisation that he was standing in the street wearing nothing more than his sleeping clothes - in front of the probable deputy headmistress no less - dawning on him. He tugged the edge of his boxers down slightly with his free hand, the undergarment suddenly feeling much shorter than he remembered it being.
"Nothin’ happened. I’m fine," he said dismissively, not taking his eyes off her while avoiding eye contact at the same time. If she wasn’t who she claimed to be he would be a terrible situation, showing vulnerability to someone who could only have criminal intent. While alternatively… If she was indeed the Order member she appeared to be he couldn’t have her thinking he was weak while he was supposed to be training people to fight in a war.
Minerva nodded, though she looked skeptical at his reassurance that he was fine. "This is easier and safer than sharing personal details to validate that it is me/ It's also much more difficult to fake, if not impossible, so it should be sufficient," she said before transforming back into her tabby cat form. She stared up at him for a moment, ears twitching and tail swishing nervously from side to side, before changing herself back with a small popping noise.
Although she was a little concerned that he could be someone other than who he appeared to be as well, she was more concerned about the state he was in–– dressed in nightclothes rather than something more appropriate for wandering around after dark. Her eyes flickered over his peculiar choice of attire again. She didn't think that anyone could manage to impersonate Alastor with any degree of accuracy so her concerns were quickly dismissed.
"Are you sure that you're all right?" she asked him worriedly. "Is everything really fine? No attacks or anything of the sort? You weren't attacked right? What are you doing out so late at night?"
She slipped her hands into her dress pockets fingers closing over her wand, still eyeing him. What could possibly have him out here on a Muggle street in the middle of the night? It made her worry about everyone in the Order–– or if something had happened to him.
There it was again.
The abrupt sound of rapping against wood reached his ears in the darkness. There was a familiarity that clung to the noise, one that Alastor desperately willed himself to recall - but no revelation came. The sound echoed around him once more, his body curving forward defensively in response. The anxiety grew quickly in the pit of his stomach, clawing its way into his throat and perching itself at the edge of his voice.
Everything was still so black.
If only he could see.
He reached out, grasping at the air aimlessly before his fingertips brushed something smooth and cold. His hand wrapped around the doorknob instinctively, twisting it before he realised where he was.
Watching the quiet Muggle street wasn't helping. It wasn't productive. Yet Minerva still sat watch outside of the Ministry on nights that she couldn't sleep, stiff as a board in her animagus form. Most nights were quiet. Sometimes she would hear news from people working the late shifts that she otherwise wouldn't read about until morning in the Daily Prophet. The quiet observance of the world at night sometimes helped her think–– and eventually sleep. If she were going to have to subside on dregs of information from Albus and other Order members in the Ministry, then she was going to gather her own information as well. It wasn't that useful to either the Order or herself but it put her at ease knowing she kept up to date.
The fur raised on the back of her neck when she spotted a figure running down the street. That was very unusual and for a moment she wanted to hide–– the street was empty aside from her and the man. She stayed still, the only movement in the night aside from the figure coming from her eye shine. There wasn't a significant chance of someone recognizing and if anything suspicious were going on then someone had to keep watch.
When she realized exactly who it was she jumped down from her perch and turned swiftly back into her human form. She had to pause at the sight of him rubbing at his eyes.
[Would he be appreciative of the company if he were upset? Did something happen? Would he prefer to be left alone and with the dignity of solitude?]
She was taking a few cautious steps back to give him a moment of privacy when he heard her.
Caution gripped her–– she was hesitant over revealing herself, knowing that Alastor was quick with a wand and could quickly fire a spell prior to asking questions.
"Don't worry–– it's only me," she said as she poked her head out from around the corner of the building she had been perched on only moments ago. She was dressed in a simple tartan Muggle dress. Her eyes didn't leave the wand he had gripped tightly. "I expect you'll want me to verify that it is in fact me prior to putting away your wand."
"Did something happen?" she asked, unable to contain the question. She wanted to know what he was doing in Muggle London in the middle of the night and if something had gone terribly wrong–– why he was upset. Her nerves were admittedly on edge. "Are you all right?"
Rodolphus was used to thinking fast, as he usually had to whenever anyone asked him what he’s been up to doing. However, any reasonable answer to a question such as hers was likely to sound unrealistic, or untruthful. Within seconds, he considered the options in his head, breezing past them and mentally ticking off each with a not bloody likely as he did so. I didn’t fancy much that career anymore. What? No one just decides to drop the ambition they’d been aiming for their entire childhood. I needed a job quickly out of school, and this was the only one available. Believable, but not for a wealthy man like him. Why he’d need any job was a question in itself, though she’d already asked and answered that for him, so he was on the clear for that. The bar relaxes me. Ha! The bar was the most unsettling place he’d ever been in. Drunkards and homeless men in abundance –– truly, genuinely relaxing.
[ The honest answer –– I haven’t had any bloody time to go job-seeking at the Ministry. Voldemort keeps me quite busy. ]
"My wife thought it the best for me," he said, before he could stop himself. Everything always seemed to go back to Bellatrix, even when it didn’t. In fact, he’d gotten the job at the bar before he even married Bellatrix, but the woman before him did not need to know that. "As Lestranges, we’ve enough attention as is, so keeping a low profile would be better for us –– " He paused, hoping she wouldn’t mentally wonder why they’d need to keep a low profile, because certainly simply because they received enough attention as is wasn’t good enough a reason. "You know –– since we’re starting a family and all." The lie came smoothly and easily, followed by a small, modest smile. "I mean, not just yet. She’s not with child, but we’re getting there." That was true, at least. They had been trying for ages.
"He seems the careless sort," said Rodolphus, watching for signs of offense in her facial expressions. "If I were you, I’d send him a very verbal and wordy Howler right this moment, embarrass him where ever he is –– hopefully, he is at a pub, much more embarrassing then, I think.” The empathy he expressed was not entirely false; he’d actually done such a thing when Rabastan had forgotten to meet their mother at the Lestrange Manor to discuss his behavior at school. “Well, I am supposed to be behind the bar at the Serpent by now…actually, was supposed to be there hours ago. Talk about late blokes, eh? No worries, though, I’m sure Vlad won’t mind.” He very much won’t, because he was quite glad to have a Lestrange working for him, so much so that he disregarded mostly anything wrong the lad did. “You’ve nothing to worry about. If I had anywhere important to be, I’d be there.”
Minerva's expression changed to one of surprise but she quickly nodded in understanding. "Good for you. Of course–– that absolutely makes sense," she said, tone much softer than it had been. She sighed. "This does all have an effect on families. You're right that working at the Ministry would draw entirely too much attention for someone planning on having children. It wouldn't be safe for them, and you do have to do what's best for your family. That's a very wise decision."
It wasn't something that she expected out of him–– sacrificing a career for family (Merlin knows she hadn't been able to do that herself) –– but it was what would be best for the children. "You'll make a good father," she told him with a smile.
She had considered the idea of children before–– her mother had asked her often enough if she were planning on giving her grandchildren and no one could be a teacher to so many young students without people asking if they were planning on having a few of their own. She personally wasn't planning on having any children (or even adopting) during a war, especially when she was a member of the Order as the idea of orphaned children weighed too heavily on her mind, but that didn't stop other people from living their lives and striving for whatever happiness that they could manage.
"Your wife never struck me as the type to want to be a mother though–– at least while she was in school. Of course, people do surprise you," she added delicately, wondering if it were an area of contention between the two of them. Couples often argued over whether to have children or not. She was curious but not enough to press the matter–– it would be rude.
Amusement flickered in her eyes when he suggested sending a Howler to her brother. "I'm sure that would be very satisfying, but I really shouldn't. It's tempting, but I don't think I actually could embarrass him over it––– at least not while he's in public," she said. "I'll make sure that he ends up thoroughly mortified later though. That's an older sister's responsibility after all."
"As long as spending time here isn't going to cost you a job then I suppose it doesn't matter that I'm keeping you from working," she said. She sipped a bit more at the drink. It made sense that he wouldn't be motivated to work–– and it was nice getting her mind off of Order business for a little while.
Literally Peeves. Except for when he’s causing helpful havoc.
Minerva is impatient with a lack of organization. It’s very necessary for her life to run more smoothly (since she’s extremely busy) and is necessary for her position as Deputy Headmistress. She isn’t excessive about being on control of her environment and can be patient with people when the situation calls for it, but it does annoy her when it makes life more difficult than it has to be.
It’s also exasperating for her when people don’t share important parts of plans with her. Even though Albus is her mentor and she admires him, it can be frustrating to be kept in the dark. She understands to a degree but
♆ : body headcanon
Minerva had expected her time healing from the stunners to be difficult. Poppy had explained her condition and healing process to her–– and the healers at St. Mungos explained it to her as well. However, there were indignities she hadn’t expected–– her body didn’t bounce back like it had before.
Her youth had been spent playing Quidditch. She was still active even in her sixties. Most of her time was spent on her feet, walking around Hogwarts and standing in the classroom. Or at least, she had been active prior to this. When she had been injured during a Quidditch game during her seventh year she had recovered relatively fast. Though she couldn’t play Quidditch with any seriousness again, she was capable of casually flying on a broomstick and no one would have suspected that she had previously broken several ribs and soldiered through a concussion. Her body had healed.
This time, she was given potions that left her drowsy while she lay in the bed. She was given even more potions once she was deemed healthy enough to progress from the bed to a wheelchair and eventually to her walking stick. It eased the pain but left her with muddled thinking.
The walking stick wasn’t as helpful as she would have hoped–– she wasn’t planning on complaining about it (except to Poppy), but it was difficult. It gave her support but not nearly enough. Her first steps with it were unsteady and painful. If she hadn’t been as strong-willed as she was then she would have immediately sat back down in her wheelchair or on the bed.
It turned out that two days later she had to sit back down in the wheelchair due to the pain in her chest and the tightness when she breathed.
"You’ll be okay–– you’re doing much better," Poppy assured her.
"It doesn’t feel that way," Minerva told her wearily.
"It’s a minor setback–– you’ve just tried to do too much at once and haven’t been taking the potions as often as you should. If you had listened to me then you wouldn’t be in nearly as much pain," Poppy told her firmly.
Minerva nodded, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. “I’m older now. It hurts,” she said. “I’m worried that I won’t be able to do everything that I used to be able to do–– and that I won’t fully recover from it.”
"You were hit with more stunners than most people can survive. However, you’ll have to believe me that you will recover from this. If you don’t then I’m sure you’re capable enough with a wand that you can get yourself around even if you have to use spells on the wheelchair. I’m sure that eventually you’ll have to face the inevitability of aging, but for now you will probably be walking without a cane in a few months," Poppy told her. “You’re a very healthy person.”
Minerva’s expression was dour.
"You’ll walk without it even sooner if you follow my directions. If you had taken enough of your pain potions you’d still be up and walking with the cane right now," Poppy told her, shaking her head. "I know you can follow directions but right now you’re being as stubborn as a Gryffindor Quidditch player."
"I was one the last time I was this severely bedridden, you know," Minerva pointed out.
"Trust me, I’m very aware of that," Poppy said with a smile. “Now take your potion–– you’re being an insufferable patient.”
“I’m not even your patient at the moment,” Minerva told her.
“Yes, well, someone had to talk some sense into you–– and I’m sure you needed another visitor,” Poppy said, glancing at the large pile of cards and flowers stacked by her bedside.
“I do enjoy the company–– all of the company I’ve had. It gets my mind off of all of this,” Minerva admitted.
“Good.”
––––––––––––––
A week later Minerva was cleared to go back to work, deemed capable enough by the healers.
Poppy had tutted about it being too early but Minerva had given a sigh of relief. The minor setback in her recovery had genuinely worried. She would have to face the reality of her aging body eventually but it wasn’t something she would need to concern herself with until a couple decades down the road.
Or so she wanted to believe.
The first day back teaching went smoothly as it possibly could while hobbling around on a walking stick. Even though she leaned heavily on it, she still looked formidable enough that no student dared to try any tricks; no one kicked her walking stick nor did anyone place spells on it.
Everything was put back to order in the school as it had been in a bit of a disarray and coming apart at the seams while she was gone.
A modicum of organization was obtained in the castle and the Deputy Headmistress considered it a very productive day for her first day back. When she went to bed she was exhausted but satisfied.
The next morning she could hardly get out of bed. Her body ached and when she sat up her ribs made a cracking noise. Prior to that moment she didn’t realize ribs could making popping sounds without there being serious injury accompanying the crunching.
She lay back down and grabbed her wand summoning her potion.
As she took her potion she reminded herself that she would heal–– that she was improving and that she had overworked herself the day before. She let herself lay in bed a bit longer than she normally would, though not long enough to be late for breakfast. Once she managed to sit up, she stayed there for a moment, lifting herself up in spite of the ache.
This was definitely worse than her Quidditch accident during her final year at school. Her body protested most of her activities–– and she did have to slow down. However, she was getting better and would continue getting better day by day, the pains slowly subsiding. Before the next term she would be perfectly fine–– occasionally her bones would ache when it rained (at which point she would curl up in her animagus form by the fire) but otherwise she had survived and it was business as usual.
The idea of reaching over and pouring the drink into her mouth himself crossed his mind once or twice…though the notion was simply ridiculous because she was his former professor and he a (usually) polite man. However, alcohol coursed through his veins and he could not think clearly. He also debated snatching the drink for himself, but he would not let her off that easy. Anyway, he would think it amusing that he got one of his former professors to drink a bit.
"I couldn’t imagine being a professor, to be quite honest. I couldn’t handle the students when I was a student, so how in the bloody hell am I supposed to as an adult? There’s something to admire about you folks, I s’pose. Educating the next generations, building the Wizarding World, really.” He wouldn’t quite admit it out loud, but he too would not have been where he was without Hogwarts. Not that he was anywhere he’d particularly like to be, but he was not talking about that aspect of his life. Though he first discovered the Dark Arts in the library of Lestrange Manor, it was that Restricted Section in the old castle where he built upon it. It was the friendships that he made that encouraged him to push on in the subject, and it certainly wasn’t hard to, considering how addictive it was.
He watched as she drank, glad at last that she had proved to be more than just an older woman with no idea on how to let go sometimes. “Ah, yes. Those career sessions –– I remember telling you I wanted to work in the Ministry. I was so excited, I was, to get out there and begin my own life and contribute to society. I suppose I am contributing now, in a different way. Alcohol does have its pros, after all.”
The words war and children within the same sentence reminded him again of the recent article in the newspaper. He forgets sometimes that ordinary people have something sorrowful to look into when a child’s death is involved . He supposed he should as well, and he did, really –– but none for any muggleborns, muggles, or any other breed that wasn’t pure. They were doing them a justice, he thinks.
He considered ordering another drink for himself, seeing as his flask was empty and talk of war only pushed him to more alcohol, but he decided against it, not wanting to return home to Bellatrix in a complete state of inebriation. It was unfit for a man like him and he’d gone far enough.
"Right. Let’s talk about your brother instead. The lad is really late now, what d’you suppose he’s even doing?” In truth, he was only interested in hearing her answer to relate it to his own, and how younger brothers always seem to disappoint. “Imagine if he walked in now –– seeing his proper sister drinking alcohol and chatting it up with a Lestrange! Bewildered, he’d be, I’d imagine.”
"Thank you–– I do think it's a very worthwhile career," she said, smiling. It was nice being appreciated for her work even if it wasn't a direct compliment. "Not everyone is suited for teaching but I can't imagine doing anything else. It's very fulfilling." The statement wasn't entirely true–– she had considered giving up teaching, briefly, for the sake of working full time with the Order. However, she was aware of how much she was needed at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had discussed the issue with her and the students needed her more.
Minerva frowned, remembering the career counseling sessions. "If you don't mind my asking, what exactly changed your mind about your career path?" she asked carefully. It was rude but couldn't help her curiosity. The career choice seemed entirely incongruent with his personality during the time he was at Hogwarts. She had fully expected him to work somewhere with a bit more prestige–– a bar didn't seem to suit him. Even if it hadn't been the Ministry, everyone had expected more out of him. He may have genuinely changed over the years, but the idea of him being pleased by working at the Spiny Serpent didn't make sense to her.
Though she was still somber over the talk of the war, she half smiled a little at the mention of her brother. "I assume that he has completely forgotten that we were supposed to meet up. I doubt that he will even show up at this point. Him being shocked about me relaxing a little isn't much of a worry," she said, although she still set her glass down self consciously. He didn't seem dangerous–– which her brother would have worried about even though she was fully capable. Even if he were pureblood and a Lestrange, it was all too easy to believe the best of her former students. "I have two brothers–– Malcolm would have remembered that we were meeting up but Rob is still the baby of our family. That's not too unusual for younger siblings. I'll be surprised if he ever grows up. He might even be enjoying himself at a different pub right now."
She sighed. "There's really nothing I can do to get him to take my time more seriously. Actually–– I'm not keeping you from anything am I?" she asked, concerned. "I've been prattling on while I was waiting to see if Rob would show up but I didn't ask if you were busy." He did invite her to sit down and bought her the drink, but he probably hadn't anticipated spending part of his evening with a former professor.
The drink arrived and Rodolphus immediately slid it towards Minerva, the bartender in him gliding it with ease. “Gillywater’s not nearly enough to let loose. You said it yourself - professors have lives as well, and though I’m definitely not equating alcohol consumation to having a life, it surely helps with one.”
It’s clear from the moment he mentioned Knockturn Alley that she’s wary. The mood shifts, and it causes Rodolphus to become more aware of just exactly who he is. Even so, a part of him becomes begrudging towards her, as it was obvious from her answer and from her actions that she did not approve of the darkened alley. It seemed stereotypes came to even those who were believed to be intelligent. Though, how could he blame her? He was exactly the sort she should be wary of - everyone from Knockturn Alley was either a disgusting, homeless drunk or a Dark Arts practitioner, or, in a few cases he’s come across, both.
"Exactly. Hearing these folks’ stories day in and day out…it distracts you, y’know? It’s good. Good for the mind. Besides, what else would I have to do with my time? Sit around and wait to die? Not likely." He was known to be blunt at times, so as he hinted that death was inevitable - especially in such a time as theirs - he eyed her expression.
It sounded fulfilling enough - something Rodolphus could hardly say for himself. “And the students these days? Are they as promising as I was?” He said this with a grin, remembering the easier days of knowing exactly what he wanted to do and how simple it was to achieve it. “Just keep a closer eye on them so as to make sure they don’t turn out to be bartenders.”
Minerva eyed the drink, hesitating over it. She picked up the glass, absently drumming her fingers against the glass as she debated the merits of actually drinking some of it. 'Letting loose' was not in her plans for the evening. He seemed genuine and she did deserve to relax a little but it was difficult to let her guard down; she always needed to anticipate the worst.
[ What if another attack happened tonight? ]
"Thank you," she said again, merely politely holding the drink as she debated the decision.
She was still cautious after he mentioned Knockturn Alley––– yet he seemed just as worried about the times they were living in and the risk of death. He wasn't likely to end up dead though, given his status–– no matter what he said. "Yes that's precisely the sort of thing that helps me–– I think I would dwell on everything and never get anything useful accomplished if I didn't have all of my students to worry about. I'm sure that the mischief my students get into is every bit as entertaining as the stories you hear in the bar–– a bit more cheerful though, I'd imagine," she said. It was impossible to admit to how much she grieved for former students, sometimes even friends, who were attacked.
"A bartender isn't the worst option–– but it's not something I recommend students consider pursuing during career advice sessions, no," Minerva said with a small smile. Her shoulders relaxed, the stiffness in her posture eased, and she finally took a sip of her drink. "Teaching isn't too different from when I taught your class. I'm a little better at it now, but students seem to develop more creative troublemaking over the years. Students mostly stay the same."
"Of course, the younger students can't remember a time before the war–– so there are some differences," she admitted before taking another small sip. "Sorry–– the idea is to keep our minds off of it and I'm still talking about it."
You should know that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.
Isobel McGonagall
[redacted] Caithness, Scotland
[redacted]
28 June 1978
Dear Màthair,
I hope you don't mind me sending this letter the usual way –––– even with being in London I haven't had time to visit the post office for stamps. I didn't want to postpone writing however, since I know how you worry. I hope this letter finds you well. Is Dadaidh feeling any better? (I'm sure you'll let him read over the letter. If he's feeling well enough, please have him write back as well).
Our visit was lovely and I wish I could have stayed longer too. I miss all of you when I'm in London. I fear Malcolm and Rob may never grow up, but they were amusing ––– as always.
Is is all right if we postpone your visit? My flat is a sight to behold (and not in a good way!) right now. Malcolm tried to visit even though I warned him (we ended up going out for tea instead). I've been terribly busy correcting our staff member's work for the Board of Governors –––– I swear that half the time it's almost as bad as grading my first year students' work. Also, our defense against the dark arts professor this past year was entirely incompetent and Albus has yet to appoint a new one so I've had to do the paperwork for the position even though it's not my field (Albus has thankfully helped with it some, of course).
Have you been keeping up with the Daily Prophet? I'm sure that at the very least Malcolm and Rob have kept you updated. I know that you're worried about drawing suspicion from the neighbors but you should really take a subscription. Do be careful –––– you could potentially be targeted given everything, although I'm sure that you are aware. (You know I'm not over reacting –––– it's the truth given all of the attacks.) I've heard people calling you awful names for staying with Dadaidh. It doesn't happen often, but it's still deeply concerning.
To satisfy your curiosity I can assure you that the rumors about Elphinstone and me are only that –––– rumors. I don't see why you buy into idle gossip. I won't be having an affair with a former employer! We're just close friends and nothing more.
I love when you let me know what friends back home are doing. I don't get as many letters from them as I did when we were all younger. I know they're all just as busy but I do like hearing the updates from you. Write back soon and let me know that you are all safe.
Year: 1974 Model(s): Denise Hopkins Photographer: *Designer(s): Pierre Balmain
__________ Additional Information from Flickr: Pierre Balmain by Classic Style of Fashion (Fourth) on Flickr. Via Flickr: Model Denise Hopkins is wearing a creation by Pierre Balmain. Vogue Paris Original Patterns,1974.
—PLEASE DO NOT EDIT THIS TEXT—
Rodolphus considered, once again, telling her of Rabastan. It would certainly give her something to relate to, something to have in common with this man ––
[ something to protect Rodolphus ]
–– but, again, he decided against it, only nodding nonchalantly, pretending to be vaguely interested. Instead, he watched her take the seat across from him, hiding his slight astonishment. He had not anticipated that she would accept his offer, but he accepted things as they had happened and gestured to the barkeeper, raising his hand and pointing a finger towards Minerva. He gave a small smile as a thanks to the barkeep, and turned his gaze to his former professor, expecting some sort of protest.
"You look as if you need a drink. It’ll be on me," he said. "Don’t worry. I’ll stop you before you go too far, so your brother won’t see you all…well…this.” He motioned towards himself, his inebriated, unprofessional self.
"Nothing much, really. Keeping up with the Spiny Serpent and all…y’know –– the bar in Knockturn Alley?” Rodolphus eyed her warily, expecting a reaction of some sort. “I’m the barkeep there…I know, such an ambitious career for a bloke like me, hm?” There was a tone of bitterness to his voice, and he instantly regretted it. He didn’t love his job, but he loved to pretend like he did, for the sake of his reputation.
Nothing much, really. It was the default answer for anyone who didn’t want to conversate about what they were actually doing. For him, 'nothing-much-really' was 'a lot, actually'. There wasn’t ever a day where he was doing ‘nothing much, really,’ (aside from now, obviously, but the break was clearly needed). He was nearly always occupied with something, be it at the bar, or tending to his wife’s needs, or ––
[ –– or breaking into a house, silent as a lamb, armed
with a wand and an explicable thrill to harm –– ]
"And yourself? Besides the teaching,….and the waiting around for forgetful brothers?"
Minerva had started to shake her head and decline the drink but Rodolphus had already anticipated her protests.
"I really shouldn't," she said. "Thank you. I couldn't possibly... I appreciate it, but I think I could just have a gillywater." She didn't ordinarily drink and when she did it was her usual gillywater but with a little gin added to it. She held her tongue rather than comment that she doubted she'd be in a similar state to the one he himself was currently in; other than a compromising incident in her younger years with firewhiskey she had never really been so much as slightly tipsy. It wasn't apparant how insistent he was going to be about it but she was still hesitant.
Her eyebrow raised when he mentioned Knockturn Alley. She was well aware of the area's reputation and exactly what sort of shops were open there. "I've never spent much time in the area," she lied, her tone mildly disapproving. All of her excursions were in her animagus form during Order business. Her arms crossed and she shifted uncomfortably in the booth. The fact that he worked in Knockturn Alley made her nervous. She wouldn't allow herself to become overly suspicious–– but she would be a bit more cautious.
"I didn't think that you would need to work–– but I suppose keeping busy can be helpful during hard times. That's what I do to cope with–– well, everything," she said.
"Teaching and waiting around for my brothers seems to occupy most of my time," she replied with a smile even though she was still uneasy. The Order meetings took up a significant amount of her time as well, though she didn't mention that. "Hogwarts keeps me very busy. Someone has to deal with the paperwork involved–– even over the summer. We don't get as much of a vacation as the students do. I don't have time for much else."
