Albus Dumbledore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
undeniablestyle) wrote2012-04-10 09:46 am
undeniablestyle) wrote2012-04-10 09:46 am
(no subject)
There are many tea invitations that herald nothing more than an hour or two of polite chatting and no complications beyond choosing which flavor of jam to put on one’s scone.
An invitation from the Minister of Magic is never one of them.
But Dumbledore had readily gone down to London, because the fact of the matter is that they are living in complicated times. And the troubles with Voldemort are growing steadily, insidiously worse.
It had been sheer happenstance that Dumbledore had run into one of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in a corridor. Marlene McKinnon, now an Auror with the Ministry. And he had gladly accepted her invitation to join her and her family for dinner.
Marlene’s husband, Ian, had looked a bit taken aback at the sight of their guest, but they had passed an altogether pleasant evening. Talk of Quidditch, admiring the work the Marlene and Ian had done to their home, and amusing anecdotes about Hogwarts and the McKinnons’ small daughter.
At least until after dinner, when the dishes had been cleared and Ian had gone to put the baby to bed.
Dumbledore settled into a chair in the sitting room, his glass of firewhisky cradled lightly in his hands, and fixed Marlene with a look that was as sharp as it was pleasant.
“So, tell me, Marlene. How are things in the Auror’s Office?”
An invitation from the Minister of Magic is never one of them.
But Dumbledore had readily gone down to London, because the fact of the matter is that they are living in complicated times. And the troubles with Voldemort are growing steadily, insidiously worse.
It had been sheer happenstance that Dumbledore had run into one of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in a corridor. Marlene McKinnon, now an Auror with the Ministry. And he had gladly accepted her invitation to join her and her family for dinner.
Marlene’s husband, Ian, had looked a bit taken aback at the sight of their guest, but they had passed an altogether pleasant evening. Talk of Quidditch, admiring the work the Marlene and Ian had done to their home, and amusing anecdotes about Hogwarts and the McKinnons’ small daughter.
At least until after dinner, when the dishes had been cleared and Ian had gone to put the baby to bed.
Dumbledore settled into a chair in the sitting room, his glass of firewhisky cradled lightly in his hands, and fixed Marlene with a look that was as sharp as it was pleasant.
“So, tell me, Marlene. How are things in the Auror’s Office?”