Title: Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967)
Author: Squibstress
Rating: MA
Genre: Drama
Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; character death
Published: 02/06/2017
Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling.
Chapter 13
Poppy was dozing fitfully in the cot she had moved close to the infirmary fireplace when she heard a voice calling her name.
“Madam Pomfrey?”
She startled awake and saw Healer Pye’s head talking to her from the fire.
“I’m sorry I startled you. I thought you might want to come.”
“Why, what’s happening?” asked Poppy, suddenly alert.
“Mrs Dumbledore has become critically ill. We’re preparing for an emergency procedure, and Professor Dumbledore asked me to call you. He’s agreed to allow us to remove her uterus.”
“I’ll be right there,” said Poppy, reaching for her outer robes.
The head disappeared, and after a minute, Poppy stepped into the fireplace and Flooed back to St Mungo’s, afraid of what she would find when she got there. She was trembling as she headed to Minerva’s room.
There was a hum of quiet, intense activity inside the room. Several mediwitches were measuring phials of potions, and a Healer Poppy didn’t recognise was moving a wand in slow circles over Minerva’s chest, murmuring things to a Quick-Quotes Quill that was taking notes on a piece of parchment hovering next to him. Healer Pye was in the corner, quietly talking to an older Healer Poppy recognised as Cressida Burgess, who had been on St Mungo’s staff back when Poppy had worked there.
Poppy approached Albus, who was standing quietly at his post beside Minerva’s bed. When he saw her, he beckoned her away.
“What have I done, Poppy?” he asked.
“Only what you had to do to save Minerva’s life,” said Poppy, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking as much as she feared it was.
“They said she might die if I didn’t consent,” he said, his voice breaking.
“I know.” She put her arms around the tall man and let him cry into her shoulder.
“She will never forgive me,” he said.
“Of course she will. She’ll know you agreed because you had no other choice.”
“This is all my fault.”
“Of course it isn’t, you didn’t cause this,” said Poppy, alarmed at his despair.
“If she hadn’t got pregnant, if I hadn’t agreed to keep the baby …”
“Albus, she wanted it. You know that,” said Poppy.
“I should never have allowed it. Not after I found out what happened to her mother,” he said.
“Nonsense! Her mother’s death had nothing to do with this. What happened to Minerva’s mother was a one in ten thousand chance. We had no reason to believe it would happen to Minerva, and it didn’t. What happened to her was different. Unfortunately, she experienced a very bad complication, and nobody is at fault for it … unless you want to place the blame on Brigid, or Hera, or Eileithyia …”
But Albus wasn’t listening. Instead, he was replaying in his head the conversation he had had with Thorfinn McGonagall. One particular phrase kept repeating: “ … watching your wife’s life drain away with her blood and nothing you can do.”
Thorfinn. What would he tell Thorfinn if Minerva died?
He pulled away from Poppy and went back to Minerva’s bedside. Kneeling down, he took her limp hand, as if he could pass his life force to her through the medium of skin. He put her cold hand to his warm, wet cheek, whispering, “Please, Minerva … please, my love … don’t leave me.”
After a few minutes, Healer Pye approached him. “Sir, we’re ready to begin. If you could step out …”
“I’m not leaving. Do what you have to do, but I stay here.” The tone was low and dangerous and would brook no dissent.
After a moment, Pye said, “All right. But I must ask you to move aside so we have room to work.”
Albus nodded and moved back to where Poppy was standing. “Do you want me to go?” she asked.
He said nothing but grabbed her hand and held it tightly.
The older Healer approached them, and when she looked for the first time at the drawn face of the man, she gasped in spite of herself. “Albus Dumbledore!”
“Cressida?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know you were at St Mungo’s,” he said softly.
“Yes, almost twenty-two years now. I’m so sorry about your loss, Albus,” she said, pressing his free hand.
“Thank you.”
“We’re going to do everything we can for Mrs Dumbledore. Or …” she faltered.
“Yes. Minerva is my wife,” he answered.
She nodded at him and said, “I’m going to begin now, Albus. It shouldn’t take terribly long.”
“All right. Thank you.”
When Healer Burgess walked away, Albus said, before Poppy could ask, “We knew each other years ago. We were both alchemy students of Nicolas Flamel.”
“She must be very smart,” said Poppy.
“Yes, she is,” he said. Poppy stopped herself from wondering if there was a deeper history there.
As Healer Burgess had predicted, it didn’t take long. From where Poppy stood, it appeared that the Healer only waved her wand over Minerva’s abdomen for several minutes, murmuring a series of spells in Latin, Greek, and another language Poppy suspected was Arabic. Healer Pye occasionally touched his wand to Minerva’s abdomen when Burgess nodded at him. Nevertheless, when he put down his wand and came to talk to Albus and Poppy, he was perspiring.
“It’s done,” he told them. “She seems to have tolerated the procedure well.”
“Thank Merlin,” said Poppy.
“Is she out of danger?” asked Albus.
“We won’t know for a bit,” said Pye. “The bleeding from her uterus is obviously stopped, but we still need to increase her volume and resolve the DIC.”
“When will she wake?” Albus asked.
“I’m not certain. It may be hours, or days, or …” He didn’t finish, but Poppy and Albus both knew what the last “or” signified.
Healer Burgess joined them. “It went as well as we could have hoped,” she said. “I was able to remove the top portion of the uterus without touching the cervix or ovaries.” When Albus looked at her questioningly, she said, “That helps preserve normal function—except she will no longer menstruate, and of course, she will be unable to bear more children.”
Albus gave a small nod.
Healer Pye said, “For the moment, I’d just like her to sleep. I’ll be monitoring her constantly, and we’ll run some more tests in an hour or so. If things look good, we’ll go ahead with more Blood Replenishing Potion.”
After the Healers and mediwitches had gone, Poppy said, “You should get some rest, Albus. I can stay with her. I promise I’ll alert you the moment anything changes.”
“No!” Then he said more gently, “I’m sorry. No, Poppy. I really need to stay. I wouldn’t rest, in any event. You go. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“All right,” said Poppy. “But promise me you’ll have them get you something to eat. The last thing Minerva needs is for you to get sick.”
“I will.”
When Poppy had left, Albus pulled up a chair next to Minerva’s bedside once again. He was too exhausted and spent to use even the simple magic that would have moved the chair into place. He took from his large robe pocket the slim volume of poetry Poppy had brought him, and opened it, hoping the special magic of Tennyson might penetrate whatever darkness was gripping Minerva and provide some thread of luminescence for her to cling to. He would drag her back to him with words.
“Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.
“For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.”
It was not until he had finished reading the poem that he realised he had recently discovered, all too intimately, the truth of the poet’s famous phrase: “Nature, red in tooth and claw”.
~oOo~
When the students arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning, they were immediately aware that something was wrong and that it was serious. It was evident both from the empty Headmaster’s chair and its smaller twin immediately to its right, where Professor McGonagall normally sat. The ashen faces of many of the other professors was another signal that something was terribly amiss.
Most, if not all, were aware that Professor McGonagall had been taken away unconscious and bleeding, and there had been a great deal of speculation as to the cause. Contrary to Madam Pomfrey’s assumption that Nigella Starsgaard would have told someone about Minerva’s condition, she had said nothing to anyone. In fact, she had refused to speak to any of her dorm-mates and didn’t come down for breakfast.
Some of the students were of the opinion that the professor’s sudden illness was related to her getting sick during class some weeks back, although nobody had made the suggestion of pregnancy as a cause since Ian Robinson made the joke in the Gryffindor common room. And everyone had recognised it as a joke. Few would have seriously considered the idea that priggish, uptight Professor McGonagall was capable of the action required to result in pregnancy, in any event.
Another faction was adamant that the professor’s illness was a result of some kind of accident, or even an attack. The lurid descriptions of the blood on the Transfiguration classroom floor certainly suggested some kind of awful curse.
Whatever the cause, the collected students realised they were about to hear some news when Professor Flitwick mounted a tall stool and used his wand to amplify his voice to address the assembly.
“As some of you know, Professor McGonagall became suddenly ill yesterday afternoon. She has been transferred to St Mungo’s, and Professor Dumbledore is with her. I am sorry to say that her illness appears to be serious.” A ripple of murmurs arose in the hall. Professor Flitwick signalled to the students to quiet down.
“Madam Pomfrey assures me, however, that Professor McGonagall is receiving the very best of care and that we may be hopeful that she will eventually make a full recovery. I do not know when she or the Headmaster will be able to return to their duties. In the interim, Transfiguration classes will be cancelled until further notice. Please be assured that, should it become necessary, we will make arrangements for another teacher to take Professor McGonagall’s classes so that none of you falls behind in your studies. During Professor Dumbledore’s absence, I will act as Head, and I trust you will all do what you can to help the staff and one another during this difficult time.”
When it became clear that there was to be no further information on the cause of Professor McGonagall’s sudden illness, the students turned to their tablemates, and much hushed discussion ensued, punctuated by the clink of silverware on plates. One question that was on everyone’s lips was: why did Professor Dumbledore need to stay at St Mungo’s? The curse-theory faction all nodded sagely at one another. Obviously, the Headmaster was trying to figure out who had cursed Professor McGonagall so terribly. Ian Robinson posited the idea that it was a Slytherin, out for revenge against McGonagall for taking House points or giving too much homework. The other Gryffindors laughed him down. Bad as McGonagall was, surely nobody would curse her for it.
Poppy had just left the Great Hall and was walking quickly toward the infirmary, intending to Floo directly back to St Mungo’s, when a voice called out to her from behind.
“Madam Pomfrey, please wait!”
Poppy turned to see Molly Prewett hurrying down the corridor toward her.
“Madam Pomfrey, please, can you tell me how Professor McGonagall is?” asked the girl, and Poppy was surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes.
“As Professor Flitwick said, she’s quite ill but getting very good care,” said Poppy.
Molly lowered her voice to a whisper. “What about the baby?”
Poppy was stunned. She quickly scanned the corridor to make sure they were alone. She spoke carefully. “What do you mean, Molly?”
“I know Professor McGonagall is pregnant. She told me.”
Poppy stared at the girl. Why on earth would Minerva have shared that information with a student? Or was the child lying for some reason? “Molly, when did Professor McGonagall tell you this?”
“About two weeks ago.” Molly could tell Madam Pomfrey was considering whether or not to believe her, so she added: “I guessed, Madam Pomfrey. I asked her, and she told me the truth.”
That was just like Minerva, Poppy thought. She’d rather bite off her tongue than lie to a student. She said quietly, “Professor McGonagall lost the baby.”
“Oh, no!” cried Molly, prompting Poppy to hush her. The girl started sobbing loudly, so Poppy quickly cast a Silencing Charm around them. She put her arms around Molly.
“Poor Professor McGonagall … Poor Professor Dumbledore …” Molly said. Poppy was startled again when she realised Molly also knew about Albus. Of course, she thought, Minerva would have told the girl about their marriage. She would certainly not have allowed a student to believe she was an unwed mother.
“What happened?” asked Molly when her sobbing had ebbed. Poppy explained, in very basic terms, the abruption. “It’s a rare and unforeseeable complication,” she told the girl.
“When will she be back?” asked Molly.
“I don’t know, Molly. She’s still quite sick.”
The girl looked stricken. “Will she be all right?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
“Will you please tell her … tell her that I’m sorry and that I love her?” asked the girl. She added, “And Professor Dumbledore too?”
Now the tears came to Poppy’s eyes. “Of course, Molly. She’ll be pleased to know you’re thinking of her.”
Molly nodded.
“You’d best be getting to class,” said Poppy. The girl was trying hard not to cry again. “Or, if you need some time to collect yourself, I could write a note explaining that you felt ill this morning and came to see me.” Molly nodded gratefully.
Poppy conjured a bit of parchment and a quill and quickly scribbled a note, handing it to the girl.
“Thank you,” whispered Molly.
As the girl walked away down the corridor, Poppy thought to herself how nice it was to be able to do something concrete for someone. Her last twenty-four hours had been altogether too full of “nothing to be done”.