Hermione sat, sleepless, on the window seat in her quarters. The suite was dark, silent…. It had been like this for a fortnight now, ever since Harry had taken up residence in Minerva’s rooms due his amnesia. The elf was lost, after the memory incident, she could no longer feel his presence… and she longed for him. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she hastily wiped them away. Standing, the girl cut across the room and opened a solid, oak door. Proceeding down a torch lit passageway, Hermione came to another door, and carefully lifted an elaborate lion’s head knocker.
“Daernana, it’s me.” The door then swung open immediately and Minerva McGonagall appeared decked out in a plaid dressing gown.
“What are you doing here, nin selde? Could you not sleep?”
“Im gosta.” Hermione faltered and flung herself into the older woman’s arms with a choking sob. Whereupon, Minerva promptly led the girl into her office, and sat her down in a chair, running a soothing hand through her hair. Pouring a crimson liquid into a beaten goblet, the professor handed it to her granddaughter-in-law.
“Drink.” McGonagall commanded. Upon, which Hermione took the cup and obligingly gulped down the elven cordial with a shuddering sigh. Instantly, relief flooded through her veins as the sugary fruitiness slid down her throat, and settled in her stomach.
“Come now, Hermione. I wish for you to see something.” Going to the cabinet hinged to the wall, Minerva gathered up her grandson’s pensieve in her arms, carried it over to the desk, and gestured for Hermione to enter the basin.
They were the Headmaster’s quarters; it was a bright, warm day; and a younger Minerva sat up enthroned in the four-poster bed. A grey-bearded Dumbledore was by his love’s side, holding a small bundle, and Madame Pompfrey was busying mopping her face with a washcloth.
“She’s perfect.” McGonagall cooed as Dumbledore returned their precious, little bundle to her mother’s arms.
“Aye, that she is.” Albus agreed, beaming fondly down at the wee, redheaded girl. “As beautiful as a Lily flower, and as intelligent as her mother’s namesake.”
“Lily Sophia, our child.”
Eleven years had passed since that fateful day, and Lily was now a blossoming young girl, about to be sorted in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School. And so, as her name was called Indilwen Hannasiel strode confidently to the stool and sat down. The younger Minerva beamed as Lily was sorted into Gryffindor, sharing a secret smile with her bond and husband of twenty-five years. Indeed later, while in bed beside her love, their daughter became the topic of discussion.
“She’s so beautiful, Albus!” McGonagall breathed, happily. “Why we did ever have to give her up?”
“You know as well as I, Minerva. Our baby was safer growing up somewhere else.”
“Why we can not reveal our marriage?”
“Well, for one, marriage is discouraged among boarding school teachers. You know that, my lady.”
“My lord, your own brother is bonded to Poppy! Is that not why he owns and manages a pub in Hogsmeade?”
“My younger brother’s private affairs are no business of mine.”
“Surely, our daughter is your business, nin herven?”
“Vesse, le ista Im meleth nin selde!”
“I never said you didn’t, Nimor. I only wish we could tell her… for I long to hold her close, and to kiss her cheeks.”
“I know you do, Validhreniel. As do I, but for now we can only wait.”
It was the summer before Lily’s seventh year at Hogwarts, and her parents decided it was time to break the news to their daughter. Traveling to Muggle Surrey, the couple soon found themselves at their cousin’s front doorstep. Eyeing each other hesitantly, the couple moved to ring the doorbell.
“What do you want?” A horsy looking teenager had opened the door.
“Hello, is this the Evans residence?” Minerva inquired, politely.
“Yes!” The girl said, irritably. “Now, what do you want?”
“We are Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We wish to meet with your sister, Lily.” At this, Petunia’s eyes grew as round as saucers and she immediately began stammering with fright.
“Mu…mum! Da…dad! There are freaks here to see Lily!” At this, all the remaining Evanses came running, inviting the teachers inside. Soon they were seated in the parlor, and Dumbledore asked that he speak to Lily, alone, with his associate.
“How has your summer been, Lily?” Minerva asked.
“Fine, as usual, Petunia’s been pestering the crap out of me. She has a new boyfriend now, so it’s even worse this summer. I have no idea how the two of us can possibly be sisters!” Consequently, Dumbledore raised a silvery eyebrow in mock surprise, and seized the opportunity.
“Well, Miss. Lily you are correct. You, Lily Sophia Dumbledore, are not an Evans.”
“Wha-? Wha-at?” Lily spluttered, disbelieving.
“You are our daughter, Lily.” Minerva said, gently.
“I’m a muggleborn.”
“No, darling, you are an elf.” And so, everything was revealed.
Lily was getting married to James Potter, and her squib foster-father was escorting her down the aisle to her waiting fiancé. Nimor and Validhreniel watched silently in a back pew, tears streaming down their faces.
“I wish I was the one escorting our Hanna, melda.” Dumbledore breathed, wistfully.
“Why do you not reveal yourself?”
“I cannot. It would ruin everything.”
“Nay, Nimor. Twould only improve matters. However, for the time being, I must agree with you. I do not wish to be embarrassed at my daughter’s nuptials.” At this, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled merrily and he raised a weathered hand to stifle a guffaw.
The year soon passed as if a fleeting memory, and the two elves found themselves in the Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing, gathered at the bedside of their daughter.
“I have a son!” James gasped, gazing proudly down at the babe in his arms. “May all know him as Caundaugion, the grandson of my father.” The elven man then placed the babe in the embrace of his weary wife, who drew the sign of Eru over her son’s brow.
“Noro go hûl, bado go Eru, nin yondo, Neurion.” Lily intoned solemnly.
“Caundaugion Neurion, a fitting name for a boy destined to be great.”
The years passed, and the couple watched their grandson grow up in the shadow of his muggle cousin with trepidation. They welcomed their little boy back to Hogwarts each year with delight, and soon he grew into a fine young man. However, on the eve of the night Albus was to pick up his grandson, something terrible occurred. Minerva was already retired for the night, and she was just about to doze off when she heard a great CRASH in the outer room. Leaping to her feet, she hurried out and found her husband collapsed on floor.
“Severus… Go get Sev…” Obeying his command, the elf flew down the stairs and soon she found herself at the Potion Master’s quarters.
“Severus, come quickly, it’s Albus he’s taken ill!” Rushing back to the office, Severus lifted the frail man into a chair and hurried to examine his charred hand.
“You fool! You forgot the necessary precautions!” Hurrying to administer potions to his colleague, he drew Eru’s sign in the air, and turned to speak with Minerva.
“Hurry, boil kingsfoil!” Bewildered as to how Snape knew of the elven athelas, Minerva obliged and working together they soon saved Albus.
“Thank you, son of Radagast.” Albus whispered.
“What do you mean, Albus? Our son, Severus Tobias Snape is NOT the son of a Maia? Is he?”
Im gosta- I am afraid
Vesse, le ista Im meleth nin selde- Wife, you know I love my daughter!
Caundaugion Neurion- Harold James
Noro go hûl, bado go Eru, nin yondo, Neurion- Run with the wind, go with God, my son, Neurion.
Please note: In elven culture, men and women have two or three names. An essë, or father-name; an amilessë, or mother-name; and an epessë, or name given by a spouse. There are no surnames, unless you count "son of" or "daughter of".