Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[dianahawthorne]

This was such a great chapter - but so sad! Great job, as always, and PLEASE update soon!

[revolutionaryetude]

I just want to say that your updates just perk up my day and leaves me with the warm and fuzzies! This was a great chapter. I was just waiting for Dumbledore to figure out that Minerva was jealous, but alas, he didn't. I think you did MInerva's emotions well when she found out how far she had stuck her foot in her mouth. Everyone who has been in that situation know exactly what was going through her mind. We did get some action thanks for the double kiss on the cheek!

[sevherfan]

Oh boy, Minerva is completely correct about how Albus assumes all wrong in the universe comes back to him when apologies are being given out, but he never assumes his behavior was the cause for Minerva's mood swings when he is reflecting on things in his own head. But even he will HAVE to see Minerva's mood as jealousy, especially when he reflects on how she said it began after overhearing him with Gertie in the staffroom. Right?! Luckily, someone we know happens to be in possession of an expensive pensieve... And how can he possibly mistake, "I overheard only enough to . . . to be unable to draw conclusions. " and "I suppose that I felt that there was something happening of which I was unaware and ignorant." the second time around? And who wouldn't want to go back to their pensieve to relive those two kisses, hmm?

That was such a long chapter. I refreshed the page and had to scrollllllll and scrollllllll. It was awesome!!

[sevherfan]

Oops, I should have also mentioned that I've been alternating between rereading chapters 92 and 93 with 3 and 13 from An Act of Love. I've found that alternating gives the perfect mix of history and fluff and wild, crazy sex.

You know, just until this Minerva and Albus work their way there... hehe.

[esoterica1693]

Hogwarts Duo, you always take the words right out of my mouth--train wreck indeed!

"The pain of separation from Minerva seemed almost physical, but there was a meeting to be held, and he was Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he had done far more difficult tasks under far more difficult circumstances than attend a meeting and answer questions when he imagined his heart was breaking."

Poor poor Albus--I've re-read this and it's brought me almost to tears! He's trying so hard, and all he gets for his trouble in this chapter is agony! But at least it brings him even closer to realizing exactly how much Minerva means to him and how he'll feel if he ever has to do without her.

And Minerva must feel so awful for putting her entire leg in her mouth. Hopefully things will go well up in the Divination tower.

Here in RL I think my iPod just died....it may not be a pet Crup, but still.....

ETA: iPod has recovered, for the nonce--yay!

[Orion's Guard]

I'm starting to write this now half way through (oh, and you double posted the second bit).

I'm about ready to strangle Minerva! All the jealousy with Gertrude, she needs to get over it! There's obviously something going on with Gertrude that she doesn't know about, but she can't take the time and put the pieces together. Ahhhhh!, for Minerva in her younger years. "No one was trying to convince her to go on a walk." Okay, I'll get back to reading now, and finish up the review when I finish the chapter...


So it all turned out for the best. Minerva was put in her place, and Albus got a double kiss (just a bit farther down there, Minerva...)

[MMADfan]

bogus7 said:

I'm starting to write this now half way through (oh, and you double posted the second bit).

I'm about ready to strangle Minerva! All the jealousy with Gertrude, she needs to get over it! There's obviously something going on with Gertrude that she doesn't know about, but she can't take the time and put the pieces together. Ahhhhh!, for Minerva in her younger years. "No one was trying to convince her to go on a walk." Okay, I'll get back to reading now, and finish up the review when I finish the chapter...


So it all turned out for the best. Minerva was put in her place, and Albus got a double kiss (just a bit farther down there, Minerva...)

Thanks -- I wondered why there were five parts when I had thought I'd calculated there'd be four -- I decided it must have been four divisions, therefore five parts, and I assumed that was the problem.

Yup, Minerva got herself straightened around -- she may have inadvertantly caused a bit of havoc around her while she was in the process, but she sorted herself out, with some help and support from her friends.

Yeah, wow, practically steamy, there, with two kisses! LOL! Gotta start somewhere, you know! *grin* Glad that everyone seemed to like this chapter. Next one will be up sometime soon . . .

[MMADfan]

XCIX: A Most Pleasant Disturbance

Minerva climbed up the rickety ladder to the Divination classroom. She would have to speak to Albus about having it replaced. Of course, she would have to check with Professor MacAirt first, in case she had a sentimental attachment to it. Doubtless the Hogwarts wards kept the ladder from falling apart, but the rungs were still alarmingly creaky, in Minerva’s opinion – and she was quite comfortable with ladders and heights, probably from clambering around on the cliffs near home as a child. Closed-in spaces, on the other hand . . . .

She entered the Divination classroom and uttered a Lumos to help light her way across the room. This classroom was about the only thing she had enjoyed about Divination until she’d quit it after her OWLs. Morning classes in that room were especially nice. There were windows on three sides of the tower room, and Professor MacAirt always kept them open, even in the winter, merely using a charm to keep the cold out. It was a light, bright, open and airy room; the only classroom she liked better had been Dumbledore’s – but that may have had more to do with the teacher than the room.

Minerva entered the Divination teacher’s study and climbed the stairs that circled the outside of the room. She reached the top, took a deep breath, let it out, and knocked at the door, rapping lightly on the frame surrounding a portrait of a blonde-haired girl in a blue dress. She could hear voices from the room beyond, and the door opened to her.

“Oh, good, Minerva! I’m glad you could come. Honnie said you might. Please! Come in!” Hafrena said with an inviting smile.

Minerva entered the room. She had only been in the Divination professor’s quarters once before, and she liked the sitting room as well as she remembered. Like the classroom, it was bright and airy. The furniture was upholstered in light colours and, although of modern design, the sofas and armchairs were comfortable. The pale upholstery was complemented by accessories in brighter colours, particularly brilliant emerald green and gold. That entire level of the tower was just one single room, divided only by shifts of function. There was a sitting area, cosily arranged around the overlarge fireplace, a section that could be described as a library, and a dining area. Minerva had never seen anything quite like it – and certainly not in the Hogwarts castle – but it was open, airy, and uncluttered, yet simultaneously comfortable and attractive. And other than the obligatory door portrait at the top of the stairs, all of the artwork on the walls was Muggle. It had quite surprised her when she had visited the last time – Hafrena was easily ninety years old, and the room had struck Minerva as being modern and youthful – and certainly not particularly wizarding. When asked about the decor, the witch explained that she had never liked the dark, stuffy, overly ornate, heavily-furnished rooms she had grown up with, and she wasn’t particularly fond of the “Hogwarts aesthetic,” as she called it. Fine for the Great Hall and the student common rooms, she said, but when she retired to her rooms for the evening, she didn’t want to be surrounded by it. Seeing the results of the witch’s distaste for the “Hogwarts aesthetic,” Minerva didn’t take offense.

Johannes stood as Minerva approached. He smiled and nodded at her.

Gertrude greeted her with a small smile. “Good to see you, Minerva. Come, sit by me,” she said, patting the sofa cushion. “Hafrena has some nice sherry that we’re sipping. Would you like a glass?”

Minerva sat next to Gertrude, feeling somewhat awkward. “Um . . .”

“I also have a good whiskey – Irish, not Scotch – and some rather pedestrian fire whisky. Last time I get anything other than Old Ogden’s,” Hafrena added. “Oh, and a blackberry cordial. Somewhat syrupy to my mind, but some like it.”

Gertrude chuckled. “May I guess that our Headmaster is one of those who like the cordial?”

Hafrena grinned and nodded, but then turned to Minerva and said, “And, of course, we can always get you butterbeer, lemonade, pumpkin juice, water – I learned a nice charm when I was on holiday in Venice to put ‘gas’ in it, as the amusing young waiter described it to me, so you could have bubbles, if you like them!”

Everyone else was drinking sherry . . . “A glass of sherry would be nice.”

Her hostess nodded and waved her wand, Summoning a glass and the bottle of sherry from across the room. She made an elegant job of pouring Minerva’s glass and Levitating it to her.

“Thank you. . . .” Minerva wasn’t quite sure how to address Professor MacAirt, having never called her anything other than “Professor,” even after returning to teach. She felt it would be rude to call her by her first name, and yet everyone else was on a first-name basis with each other. Gertrude had invited her to call her by her given name within weeks of her arrival, and it had taken some practice, but Minerva had become comfortable addressing her as “Gertrude” in private. Professor Birnbaum had only taught at Hogwarts during the last few months of her seventh year, so calling him “Johannes” had come somewhat more easily.

“You’re welcome! I am glad you were able to come and that you weren’t put off by the trek up to the Tower.”

“No, I’ve become rather used to climbing up and down several flights of stairs every day. I don’t even notice it anymore,” Minerva said with a polite smile. “It didn’t seem very far.”

She wished she could find an opening to apologise to Gertrude. She didn’t want to make the Arithmancer uncomfortable by raising something that might remind her of other things that she didn’t want to be thinking about, and she certainly didn’t want to make more of it than it was, but she did think an apology of some sort was called for.

“When Minerva was down for her visit, we walked out to the hill fort and climbed around. Unlike some, she didn’t begin to whine and complain about the distance or the difficulty before we’d even left the gardens,” Gertie said, her eyes smiling as she remembered.

Minerva remembered the trousers Gertrude had loaned her, and thought perhaps that might be amusing in the re-telling. “Yes, well, the trousers you loaned me were useful, Gertrude.” Minerva smiled at the others. “I almost thought she was joking when she mentioned something about loaning me trousers, but it didn’t seem the sort of joke she would make. And then this little house-elf arrived in my room with a folded garment hovering over his head, and when I unfolded it, there they were! Trousers! Brown trousers. They had two legs. And belt loops. And it seemed I’d never seen anything quite so peculiar before! Well, after blinking at them a bit, and wondering how impolite it would be to refuse them, and still suspecting a practical joke of some kind, I tried them on, made a few changes so they would fit, created a blouse from one of my favourite robes, and looked at myself in the mirror: a Witch in Trousers. I was just deciding that, regardless of their practicality, the trousers were perfectly impossible, when Gertrude arrived at the door, also in trousers.” Minerva was pleased to see that even Gertrude was grinning at the story. “Although I was more than decently covered, I felt strangely naked in them, and Gertrude had to remind me that I could walk in them without mincing my steps!”

Hafrena laughed. “No wonder Gertrude has taken such a shine to you! Most witches are horrified by the mere idea of wearing trousers when she presents them with it, and are strongly insulted when she sends a pair along for them to try!”

Minerva smiled. “Well, I wasn’t unsceptical about them, and I can’t say I was particularly comfortable in them at first, nor that I am in any hurry to acquire a pair of my own trousers, but they are far less ridiculous than I’d first thought.”

“Well, it was no test, and she certainly wasn’t required to wear them, but I was pleased she lived up to my expectations for the boldness of a Gryffindor!” Gertie joked. She looked at Minerva, a fond smile on her face. “Reginald would have liked you, Minerva. He always enjoyed climbing around the ruins, and knew more about them than even I did, despite the fact that I’d grown up with them. He probably would have taken you around to see the graffiti – sixth century graffiti. Most of it in the form of rather rude pictures, I’m afraid. But there are also some older inscriptions from when it was used by the Romans. He did a great deal of work on them, uncovering new ones, recovering ones that had worn away from weather, recording them. . . . I still have his last notes, unfinished, from our last holiday home. We never should have returned . . . .we should have stayed. He could have finished . . .” Gertrude’s eyes misted and she shook herself. “Anyway, Minerva, I wish I had thought to show them to you. You may have appreciated them – Reginald was sure he’d identified some wizarding inscriptions alongside the ordinary Muggle ones among the Roman era artifacts. I think you inherited some of your father’s interest in that sort of thing, didn’t you?”

“Yes, although, of course, devoting myself to Transfiguration, I am afraid that my knowledge of Ancient Runes and archaic wizarding inscriptions and spells may have more breadth than depth.”

“Well, next time you’re down, I will bring you out to see them. We’ll bring Aine along. She is quite the little linguist, though her father hopes that she will follow in her mother’s footsteps and go into Herbology. Still, she’s young yet – there may be hope for her: she may enter Arithmancy!” Gertie grinned at her own joke.

“Ah, but she’s a MacAirt, Gertrude,” Hafrena said with a tilt of her head. “You know she’s mine. Whatever else she may do with herself, she’s mine.”

Gertrude stiffened slightly beside Minerva. “I am aware of your meaning, but I do not like that turn of phrase, Hafrena. And, given the independence that Quin has encouraged in his children, I think you would find her avoiding Divination if she heard you express yourself in such a way.”

“Sorry, Gertrude. Force of habit among the MacAirts, I’m afraid. I don’t mean it literally,” Hafrena explained, directing her comments at all three of her guests. “I simply mean that as a MacAirt, I have an obligation to her to assist her with her gifts. It is more about what I owe her than what she does with herself. It is an infelicitous phrase, and I will endeavour not to use it again.”

Gertrude relaxed beside Minerva. “Of course . . . and I know very well how you mean it. But it sounds almost predatory, and certainly possessive, when you put it the other way.”

Hafrena nodded. “And you have reminded me of that very well, Gertie. Thank you.”

There was a lull in the conversation, and Minerva turned to Johannes. “You know, I’ve been thinking, Johannes, and I believe I would like to see that Jarvey sometime. Are you still considering a visit to him tomorrow?”

Johannes grinned widely. “Yes, although we have only determined that we will visit sometime after lunch. We may all need a bit of a sleep tomorrow morning,” he said.

“Yes, I’m interested in how a drunken Auror swears,” Gertrude said with a quirk of her mouth. “Have you any Aurors whom we may invite along, ply with drink, and then give us a demonstration so that we can compare the Jarvey’s performance with the real thing?”

He laughed. “I think you will not need to hear a drunken Auror once you have heard the Jarvey!”

They all chuckled slightly.

Minerva turned to Gertrude. “You know, Gertrude . . . I want to apologise. I – ”

“No need, not if you’re referring to your initial reaction to the suggested walk. We all say things occasionally that don’t come out as we mean them. And it must have been extremely irritating to hear these two go on and on about walks in the garden and Jarveys and so forth, and have no idea what they were on about. So don’t worry – I understand. Besides,” she added, “you should have heard me tear into this one” – she gestured toward Hafrena – “when she came to drag me up here. I probably swore like a drunken Jarvey!” She grinned at her hostess.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way, Gertie, though you did dig in your heels and snort like a wild Abraxan!”

Gertrude laughed at that, as did the others.

By the time Minerva left that night, it was after midnight. Johannes had fallen asleep in his chair, his glass of fire whisky still cradled in his right hand, and Hafrena said just to leave him. Minerva and Gertrude left together, bidding Hafrena good night and thanking her for her hospitality. When they reached the ladder down to the seventh floor, Minerva looked at it and shook her head. Now she knew why Hafrena had said to let Johannes sleep. He would have had a hard time negotiating the ladder.

“I’d forgotten the ladder. I’m very glad I didn’t have more to drink than I did. Would you prefer to go first, or shall I?”

Gertrude looked at Minerva. “Perhaps if you went first, I could trust you to catch me if I fell,” she said with a slightly tipsy grin.

“And I couldn’t trust you?” Minerva asked it before she knew what she was saying.

“You could; but you don’t. Well, you would. But you’d rather not.” Gertrude gazed at her with a peculiar expression on her face, and Minerva had the feeling that Gertrude wasn’t talking about the dangers posed by the ladder.

“Well, I think I got a later start on the sherry. I may be a bit faster on the draw. But I wouldn’t mind if you kept an eye on me and had your wand out . . . .”

Minerva didn’t slip, but she did find the ladder even more rickety feeling than she had going up.

“All right, there, Gertrude?” Minerva looked up and watched as Gertrude descended the ladder, peculiarly appearing to be using her hands more than her feet, which seemed barely to touch the rungs, but she made it down quite successfully.

The older witch dusted her hands off. “I can’t tell you the number of times over the years that Hafrena has had more than one overnight guest because either they weren’t fit to climb down the ladder or they simply refused to. Slughorn hasn’t been to any of her gatherings since nineteen forty-nine, when, after he got to the top of the ladder, he looked down at it, vomited, then keeled over. He had to be Levitated back up to Hafrena’s sitting room, where he spent the night on her sofa.”

Minerva suppressed her grin. That would have been quite a sight. “I was thinking about whether the ladder might not be due for some . . . repair or replacement. Perhaps when the wards are renewed?”

“Yes, they are getting a bit more . . . alarming than usual.”

The two witches started down the main staircase. When they reached the fourth floor and Minerva didn’t stop there, Gertrude looked at her questioningly.

“I thought I’d walk you back to your room, and then I have a stop to make, myself.”

“You needn’t, but it would be nice.” Gertrude smiled at her. “Johannes told me what you said earlier. About asking me what it was that I wanted to do.” The older witch drew a shaky breath. “That was very kind. Thank you. They all meant well, I knew that, but I just . . . they just kept after me. Albus wasn’t quite as bad as the other two, but he kept trying to be so . . . cheerful. About the most ridiculous things! I loved him for it, but I also wanted to shake him, particularly the third time he offered me a peppermint pillow. I would have greatly preferred it if he had just given me the work he had asked me back here to do.”

They reached the second floor and Gertrude turned to Minerva. “I don’t usually say such things, Minerva,” she said softly, “And perhaps that’s a failing with me, but I do want you to know I appreciate your coming up tonight. And that I am glad you are here at Hogwarts. Albus told me that you have accepted the position as Head of Gryffindor. I know you will do well and be a credit to your House and to Albus.” They began walking toward the side corridor where Gertrude’s rooms were located. “It is good for him to have you here, you know, Minerva. I’m glad you accepted the position. You’ll be able to do more as a Head of House.”

Minerva didn’t know quite what to say. “I am glad I came tonight, as well. I know I’m not an old friend like Johannes or Professor MacAirt, and I wasn’t sure if I should. But now I’m happy I did. And I will certainly do my best as Head of Gryffindor.”

Reaching Gertrude’s door, they stopped, and Gertrude said, “Tenax.” Her door clicked open.

“Good night, Minerva. Thank you for your company.”

Minerva nodded. “Good night, Gertrude. And I hope that tomorrow will be a better day for you,” she added sincerely.

“It will certainly be another day, and sometimes just that is sufficient.” As she opened the door, the older witch raised a hand and brushed Minerva’s arm lightly before entering her quarters.

Minerva walked slowly down the narrow corridor to the main hallway. This had been a very peculiar day. Her emotions had been so exercised from morning till night, Minerva didn’t think herself capable of feeling anything at all right now, even if a Boggart appeared in front of her. When she ceased thinking about Gertrude as, well, Gertrude and whatever it was the witch had come to represent in her life, she found herself actually liking her. She’d never be able to talk with her the way she did with Poppy, or spend time with her in the same relaxed, casual manner, but she could envision developing a friendly, collegial relationship. If she could get past her jealousy, which she didn’t even know was warranted. And even if it were . . . it was unfair to Gertrude to dislike her on that basis alone. Gertrude had always treated her fairly, after all, even as a student. She had treated her with respect, even when she hadn’t been particularly deserving of it, Minerva thought, remembering the witch’s response to her “excursion” after Myrtle had been killed. Looking back on the incident now as a teacher, Minerva doubted that she would have exercised the restraint that Gertrude had, nor that she would have treated the offender as anything other than an errant child who should be sent to bed without pudding. But Gertrude had given her something to think about, instead. A pity she wasn’t Head of Slytherin instead of Slughorn. She might keep the little snakes in line better. Minerva sighed. Now that she was a teacher – and especially now that she was Head of Gryffindor – she would have to work doubly hard not to allow her House biases to effect her treatment of the students as individuals.

She reached the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s stair, and gave the password. The gargoyle, which had been feigning sleep, opened one eye, then closed it, but the door opened, nonetheless, and Minerva mounted the moving stair. Certain that the Headmaster was asleep – and if he wasn’t, he should be – Minerva didn’t knock, but just opened the door. The room was dark, and she used her wand to light her way across the room. She hoped he had left the applications on his desk and not put them away when she hadn’t retrieved them earlier.

Just as she bent over the desk, trying to see if she could find the documents, Minerva heard a sound come from above, and a moment later, Albus appeared at the top of the spiral brass staircase.

“Ah, it is you, Minerva!” He began down the stairs, belting his dressing gown around him as he went. “Is everything all right?”

He had clearly been woken out of a sound sleep, Minerva thought. He hadn’t even put on his glasses and he still looked half-asleep.

“I am sorry, Albus! I did not mean to wake you! I thought if I was quiet –”

“Don’t worry, my dear. That’s fine. Is there anything you need? Something I can help you with?” he asked.

“I just came up for the applications. I had been unable to get them earlier, but I hadn’t forgotten them.”

“You could have waited until morning, my dear! And we will do better with a little more light, I would say.” Albus waved a hand in a slight gesture and one of the sconces near the desk lit up.

“I really hadn’t intended to wake you.”

“If anyone enters my office, or, I should say more correctly, if the gargoyle allows anyone entry, I am made aware of it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realise that, or I would have waited until tomorrow.”

“Well, now that you’re here – ” Albus stifled a yawn.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Minerva looked at the contents of his desk and could now see the small stack of applications neatly placed in the corner, a small note to her on top of them, and she picked them up. “Again, I am sorry to have woken you. I didn’t realise I would.”

“Yes, it is a convenient charm, but it has its drawbacks, as well. I have it focussed on my desk chair, but the effect is distributed throughout the office and my suite. It is usually useful. And in this instance,” he added with a smile, “it is an unexpected pleasure to see you.”

Minerva smiled at his words, then said, “So that’s what I felt that time – your charm!”

Albus knit his brow. “When? What do you mean? What did you feel?”

“I was sitting at your desk, trying to get some work done for you, and I felt a peculiar tingling. I looked around and didn’t see anything, but a few minutes later, Gertrude arrived. Then when Professor Slughorn came up, I didn’t know he was here until he knocked. But I wasn’t at the desk at the time, either.”

“How very unusual! I did not believe that anyone else could be aware of it – I tied it to the wards and tuned it specifically to me.” He looked puzzled for a moment, but then yawned and, with a shrug, said, “Possibly resonance of some sort . . . but this is probably not the best time to contemplate that particular mystery.”

“No, and you should get back to bed. You look as though I woke you out of a sound sleep.”

“I don’t mind – would you like to take the short-cut through the back steps?” Albus offered.

“No, I’ll leave the way I came. You need to get back to bed and I need to stretch my legs a bit,” Minerva said, feeling badly for having woken him and thinking how very sleepy he looked.

“Very well, my dear. But I can at least show you to the door,” he said, stifling another yawn.

Albus walked over to the door and rested his hand on the handle, Minerva following. “I hope you had a nice evening,” he said.

“I did, and more importantly, I believe that Gertie did, as well,” Minerva replied.

He nodded sleepily, smiling, and placed his other hand on her arm. “I am glad. Very glad. And it is a pleasure to see you and be able to say good night to you again, my dear.”

Albus took a step toward her, and Minerva looked up. The hand that had rested on her arm went around her, and he placed his lips on her forehead. Minerva closed her eyes, and she brought her free hand up to rest on his chest, barely able to restrain herself from dropping the applications to the floor and putting both arms around him. As his lips pressed against her forehead and she felt his breath in her hair, Minerva struggled with the urge to raise her face and kiss his mouth. She was beginning to fear that she was going to lose her struggle when Albus let go and stepped back.

“Mm-Minerva, I, um, yes . . . good night. I am very sleepy, I am afraid.” He blinked at her.

“Well, you get back on up to sleep, then, and hopefully you won’t be disturbed again tonight,” Minerva responded with a smile, trying to sound perfectly normal.

“Yes, well, this was a most pleasant disturbance . . .” He cleared his throat, then opened the door and held it for her. “I hope you sleep well.”

“I think I will. Good night, Albus, sweet dreams.” She felt like lingering, but cast one last glance at him and turned and left. As the stair was carrying her downward, Minerva heard the door close above her, and she shivered. The ability to feel had certainly returned to her. How much simpler everything would be if it hadn’t . . . .

---

Note: Hope you all enjoyed this! Thanks for all your kind comments!
To learn more about Abraxans and Jarveys, check out Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
Next: "Impulse"

If you are enjoying RaM, you might enjoy my pair of one-shots, "Falling for Pomona" and "Impressing Filius," which are set in a RaM-like universe. The two stories are companions, but "Falling for Pomona" should be read first.

[sevherfan]

Hehe, Albus and his kisses are like me putting at golf - first he's so far south he's at her fingers, then he gets close enough with her cheek, then he moves over enough but up too far to her forehead. I'm confident he'll get it right next time.

How far Gertie and Minerva have progressed! Sorta warms my cold little heart that they developed a warm and friendly true female friendship (I'm sure Minerva would disagree if asked directly though).

p.s. To a logical person it might seem that 4posts+1post ->5posts/2chapters = 2.5posts/chapter would be a reasonable average. But fans are never reasonable. Come on, post Impulse!

[revolutionaryetude]

OOOH it is pratically getting steaming now! This is really good chapter. I am glad Minerva has a female friend! I wonder if Gertrude notices anything between Minerva and Albus? Of course this was a wonderful chapter and I can't wait until the next chapter?

[Sensiblyquirky]

I loved this chapter! I was never an anti-Gertie reader in the first post and I really like her now. You may throw something at us later, but I think she is a good person that truely loves Albus as a friend and I think it is great how she seems to really like Minerva. A little sad for Gertie I guess that Minerva can't return the sentiment quite as strongly.

I think Minerva needs to keep waking Albus up so he keeps slipping on his self control! I love those little moments you create in this story.

Looking forward to more,

Christy

[esoterica1693]

That embrace--just reading it made *me* want to jump Albus' bones then and there--I have no idea how Minerva restrained herself! ;-) He will be having sweet dreams indeed...hope she does too, instead of berating herself for her feelings

[Hogwarts Duo]

MERLIN'S BEARD!!! We should ply Gertie with sherry more often so she'll loosen up a bit and actually speak in unveiled coherent sentences for a change. WOO HOO! It was incredibly refreshing to see her have a conversation with Minerva in which she isn't talking in circles and hidden meanings that could be easily taken so many ways.

The ending of this chapter, as others have already said, was indeed steamy. I do believe I had a thin mist beginning to form on my computer screen. LOL Too bad Minerva didn't have just one or two more drinks. Maybe then she'd have lost her inhibitions and actually acted out her thoughts. Mmmm, that would have been nice. A nice, warm, uninhibited Albus...a dark office...him in his pj's....yeah...I could definitely see that working in her favor. And the kiss was perfect. I love how he lingered there and she could feel his breath. Soooo sweet!!!

I'm really looking forward to the next chapter. I hope we get to see a bit of what each of them thought on the kiss. That's always fun when you write it. Of course it can be infuriating at times too when they both get it wrong...but it's still well written and very entertaining.

Update soon!!!
GLM

[MMADfan]

Note: Thank you all very much for youre reviews! Glad you liked the nice kiss on the forehead. Minerva did, too! ;D

Here's the next chapter, a few days early, to help folks start their weekend right! It's shortish, but still too long for one post, so it's posted in two parts.

C: Impulse

Albus returned to his bed, but not to sleep. Despite having been on the verge of falling asleep standing up while speaking with Minerva, as soon as he lay down, he was distracted by a roiling ball of nervous tension that had taken up residence in his stomach. He was able to subdue and then dismiss the nervous tension, but not its cause. What had he been thinking? Obviously, he hadn’t been. He had acted on impulse. Fortunately for him, the level of ease between him and Minerva had grown over the past few weeks, and she hadn’t expressed any offense taken at his excessive display of affection, though she had raised her hand between them. At least she had only held him at a distance and not felt compelled to push him away, he thought. It was good that she was fond of him . . . and a relief, as well, to realise that she still was, after his fears for their relationship earlier in the day.

After Minerva had left him earlier in the evening to attend the small gathering in Hafrena’s tower rooms, Albus had taken a walk, very relieved to learn that the reason for Minerva’s apparent distance that morning had been her own bad mood and some misunderstanding about something he and Gertrude had been discussing in the staff room. After his brief stroll, he returned to his office to attempt to work through some of what he had neglected that day in order to keep Gertrude company. Albus now recognised that he should have had Gertrude help him with it; she likely would have preferred that to the rather aimless shape her day took, and it was, after all, the reason that she had returned to Hogwarts rather than going to Amsterdam to be with her son and daughter-in-law. Better yet, he should have insisted on making her a Portkey to Robert’s and had her leave immediately. He had offered, but she had declined. Of course, at the time she had declined the offer, she had thought she was going to have a busy day of work, not one in which she would have to try to humour him in his attempts to cheer her up.

Albus did manage to get through some of the less pressing matters that had been accumulating on his desk, but he was unable to concentrate well enough to deal with any of the more complicated documents and requests, so had left them for the next day and retired to his suite for the evening. Despite his discipline, his mind kept returning to the conversation he had had with Minerva, and to the feel of her kiss on his cheek. It was irksome, the way it kept returning to him; his mind would seem to be fully occupied in its task, and there it was again: the sensation of Minerva’s lips brushing his cheek, followed by another kiss, one no less soft and gentle than the first, but warmer and less brief.

Finally, unable to concentrate even on the light novel he was reading, Albus put his book aside and got ready for bed, deliberately directing his mind toward the tasks he had ahead of him the next day. After lying down, Albus did a number of brief meditations aimed at calming mind and body and preparing it for sleep. He hadn’t performed these exercises in a number of years, at least not all of them at once, but they came easily to him, and when he doused the lights in the bedroom, he fell asleep shortly thereafter.

His dreams had been pleasant, though mundane, the only remarkable thing about them being the constant presence of Minerva. When, in response to his wards, he awoke shortly before one o’clock, he had stuffed his feet in his slippers, grabbed his dressing gown from its place at the end of the bed, and blearily gone downstairs. There were only a few people who it might be, since not everyone present in the castle that night had the summer password. Nonetheless, he had been somewhat surprised to find Minerva in his office. Her dedication was commendable, if a bit excessive in that moment. She had, after all, been in the committee meeting almost all day; he hadn’t expected her to have fetched the applications yet.

Albus had been truthful when he had said it was a pleasant disturbance to have woken and found her in his office. But he had been so sleepy . . . when he saw her off at the door, he thought only to give her a light kiss, a mere peck on her forehead, as a fond uncle might. But he did not feel like a fond uncle. He hadn’t felt like a fond uncle toward Minerva in at least ten years. And, sleepy as he was, as relaxed as he felt, he had held her to him, pressed his lips to her forehead, and then closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. It was not a brief, avuncular peck. It was not as though he had even been moved to do more than he had, but as he stood there, holding Minerva, his rather muddled brain had considered that a most perfect moment, and that he could quite happily remain like that forever. Minerva had not seemed at all disturbed by it, fortunately. Likely, she had simply put it down to his being half-asleep – which, indeed, was the case. He certainly would have exercised greater restraint had he been fully awake. This incident reminded Albus of his resolve to act out of love for Minerva, but within the confines of an appropriate friendly relationship. There was no point in regretting what he had done, Albus decided. She hadn’t minded, and that was the important thing. He would simply need to be more careful in the future and not give in to momentary impulses.

Albus rolled over and fell asleep, remembering the scent of Minerva, and his dreams were sweet.

-/-/-/-/-

Minerva chided herself the entire way back to her rooms. She hadn’t acted on her impulse, but it had been there. It had been there when she had vowed that she would not do that to herself, torment herself with desires that could not be answered, with urges that could not be acted upon without disaster. Albus’s sweet, sleepy kiss had been the gesture of an old friend, a dear friend whom she had woken from a sound sleep and yet who had been gracious and warm, despite the fact that there was no good reason for him to have had his sleep disturbed. What had she been thinking when she had decided to go to his office? Even being unaware of his charm and that he would be awoken, it was inappropriate or, at least, unnecessary, to enter his office in the middle of the night to retrieve applications that weren’t pressing and that she could just as easily have picked up in the morning. She probably looked like an over-eager student trying for extra House points or something. Minerva just hadn’t wanted Albus to think that she had forgotten her promise or that she was reluctant to help him, and she certainly didn’t want him to doubt his choice of her as Head of Gryffindor. Not that he’d had much choice, despite what he’d said that morning about her being his first choice no matter how many Gryffindors were on staff. And that was all the more reason to do her very best, but fetching the applications in the middle of the night . . . that was a bit over-the-top.

Minerva entered her sitting room, the Silent Knight, sitting propped against the apple tree, never bothering to pretend to awaken from his sham sleep, Fidelio snoring at his feet, but merely clicking the door open at the password. She would change it in the morning, she thought. She really ought to have done so weeks ago, but after having given it to Dumbledore, she hadn’t wanted to go through the awkwardness of deciding whether or not to give him the new one. It didn’t appear he’d had any reason to enter her rooms since he had connected the landscape to the portrait network, and he always could use the Headmaster’s password if he had to enter if she were away. He might not even need a password, for all she knew.

She placed the applications on her work table, remembering with some pleasure that she would soon have a study, as well as an office. There were a few perks to being a Head of House. Of course, staff could always request new quarters, or an additional room, but most found the two or three rooms sufficient to their needs. But she would have more room for her books if she had a study. Right now, many of them were in her office, and she would prefer to have at least half of those in her rooms.

As Minerva got ready for bed, casting fond glances at the photograph of Albus – well, the photograph of Albus and her – she thought how sweet he had been, sleepy and slightly befuddled, kissing her forehead as he had. Practically asleep on his feet, he’d been! Poor wizard! And she’d had the . . . the lack of self-discipline to keep unseemly urges at bay. At least she hadn’t acted on them, Minerva thought with a sigh, trying not to think of the feel of his lips, his breath, his magic. . . .

She placed her hairpins in their little porcelain dish, and the evil eye caught Minerva’s attention. As she brushed her hair out using the Charmed silver-backed brush her brother Morgan had given her one Christmas, she looked at the peculiar talisman, hanging by its cord from one corner of her mirror. After she had gathered her hair into a loose braid for sleep, Minerva reached out and lifted the crude pendant from its place, held it in her hand, and considered it. What to do with this odd Muggle artifact? Albus had fastened it round her neck, or she would certainly have put it in a drawer or cupboard out of sight. There was something slightly unsettling about the warm blue stone and its eye in veins of darker blue and grey. She wondered whether folk went about looking for such stones, or whether they simply chanced upon them serendipitously. There did seem to be something about it – the combination of the stone with its bit of mirror, perhaps, or just the uncanny blue eye – that made her wonder if there were some kind of Muggle magic about it. Not real magic, of course, but some sort of . . . natural magic that was recognisable even to Muggles.

Minerva rejected the thought that flitted through her mind, that she could just keep it in her vanity drawer, and, instead, placed on her bedside table, in front of Albus’s picture, between the two white stones, its cheap cord puddled beneath it, creating a small nest for it. Now she really did have the makings of a shrine she thought with a rueful grin. A very peculiar shrine, it was, too, the small rose seeming disproportionately large in contrast to the small frame to which it was affixed, the two stones, one a twin of the other, and the trinket given her by the foreign Gypsy, seeming to stare up at her with an eternally open eye. And all surrounding a photograph of Albus that she had clipped from the Daily Prophet more than twelve years before.

Opening one side of her window to the cool night air, Minerva darkened the room and slipped into bed, her face turned toward where she knew Albus’s photograph sat on her night stand, and slowly, her eyes drifted shut, and she dreamt of a man with eyes more blue than any nazar.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

C: Impulse, continued

When Minerva opened her eyes again, sunlight was streaming in through the window and a cup of tea sat steaming on her night stand, a miniature pitcher of milk beside it. She sat up and reached to pour a little milk into the tea, wondering when Blampa had delivered it and how late it was. Much later than she usually woke, Minerva thought. Blampa had carefully set the tea several inches from the photograph of Albus, and Minerva pulled the cup and saucer toward her.

As she sipped the hot tea, Minerva thought about the previous day. She certainly had behaved poorly, not to mention that she had spent most of the day feeling miserable. The cause of her bad mood and her embarrassing behaviour had been entirely avoidable, as well, if she had simply restrained herself from eavesdropping – or, if she hadn’t managed that, at least had entered the staff room immediately, rather than retreating to her rooms like a hormonal adolescent. At least everything had worked out in the end; Gertrude had forgiven her easily, for which Minerva was grateful, and Albus had been understanding, not even scolding her for listening at doors. Of course, she was an adult, and she had clearly seen and suffered the consequences of her rudeness. It had been so good of Albus to explain it away as her bad day colliding with Gertrude’s bad day . . . and she was very relieved that the consequences hadn’t been catastrophic.

Albus. Dear, sweet Albus. Minerva cradled her cup in her hands and remembered his calm, unquestioning acceptance of her confession that she had eavesdropped. And his explanation had been kind and patient. Tears rose in her eyes as she remembered the warmth of his gaze when he’d wished her a very good night. And he had called her “my dear Minerva.” She sniffed a bit. Perhaps it was foolish of her, but she cherished those words, and it did seem to her that he called her “my dear Minerva,” or sometimes “my dear Professor,” if they were in company, and she didn’t believe that he addressed anyone else in quite that way.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember the way he had bid her good-night when they were in his office, the way his hand had slipped around behind her as he stepped closer, the feel of his lips upon her forehead, lingering there, his breath on her hair, and how she could feel his heartbeat and the gentle strumming of his magic beneath her hand. Minerva grew warm with the memory of his sleepy, unselfconscious kiss, and she permitted herself the daydream she had denied herself the night before, a daydream in which she dropped the parchments to the floor and put her arm around him, rubbing his chest with her other hand as she raised her face and brought her lips to meet his . . . she imagined the feel of his lips and his beard, and how he would release the handle of the door, forgetting completely that she had been about to leave, and he would put his other arm around her, pulling her closer, and her hand would go from his chest to his face, caressing him, threading her fingers through his hair, and he would hold her tightly against him . . . and suddenly Minerva opened her eyes as hot tea spilled over her lap. She ground her teeth together, biting back the expletive that had been on the tip of her tongue.

Shaking her head at her idiocy – for not only was spilling her hot tea all over herself incredibly stupid, but her fantasy was even more foolish – Minerva Summoned her wand and cleaned up the mess she had made. She looked over at the little photograph of Albus. At least it had been far from the spilled tea. Although she had strengthened the photograph when she clipped it from the newspaper, she didn’t have any charm or any picture glass protecting it. She was unfamiliar with the charm that Albus had used on the other two photographs. She would have to ask him what it was so that she could cast it on her other little keepsake. Though she did hope that she wouldn’t be spilling any tea in its vicinity again.

Minerva cast a Tempus and was astounded to see that it was ten minutes past nine. She never slept that late. Of course, she had been up late the night before, and the day’s events had been exhausting, but she was still surprised at the hour.

“Blampa! Blampa!” Before she had finished calling the little house-elf’s name for the second time, her grinning little face was in front of her.

“May I, Blampa, serves the Professor Minerva?”

“Yes, Blampa. Thank you for the tea. That was very thoughtful and nice to wake up to.”

The little elf’s colour deepened, and Minerva presumed she was blushing. “Professor Minerva, nothing to thank Blampa for. I, Blampa, is happy her Professor Minerva sleeps well and wakes to tea!”

Her grammar could use a little work, but Minerva appreciated the sentiment. “You know, Blampa, you can use the word ‘you’ when you address me. You’ve done it before. I don’t mind.” Ignoring the little elf’s growing blush, Minerva continued, “I would like a light breakfast, please; just a little toast, perhaps some fruit, and some tea.”

“Light breakfast coming right up for you, Professor Minerva, yes, indeedy!” Blampa said, with a bounce on her toes before she Disapparated.

Minerva brushed her hair and put on her dressing gown, feeling quite indolent, still not dressed at that hour of the day. Her walk would be late, as well. When she entered her sitting room, she found that Blampa had already efficiently laid the table and left her tea, toast, and a bowl of mixed berries.

As she ate, Minerva remembered something else that Albus had mentioned the night before – well, she supposed it was earlier that morning, actually – he had been surprised, it seemed, that Minerva had been able to feel his door charm when she had been sitting at his desk. He had said something about “resonance.” Could this have something to do with their wands? When speaking of their wands, he had said that their magic “resonated” well together. Minerva frowned over her berries as she thought about the question. It was unlikely that it was her wand that had been the cause . . . unless it had served as a conductor or an amplifier of some sort. But she hadn’t been able to feel it elsewhere in the office, only when seated behind his desk, the focus of the charm. No, it was more likely that the phenomenon that had led them to possess mated wands was the same phenomenon that had allowed her to feel a charm that Dumbledore had said he had specifically tuned to himself.

Minerva thought about the notion of resonance, and what Albus had mentioned before about their magic “harmonising.” Was that what had drawn her to him, those years ago? She had become increasingly sensitive to his magical signature the longer she had studied with him, and it seemed that her growing awareness of him as a wizard had accompanied her growing awareness of his magic. But it wasn’t only his magic that drew her to him, any more than it had been her magical accident in the Transfiguration classroom that had created her love or her desire for him. The accident had triggered her love and desire; it had not created them from nothing. And if she was particularly well-tuned to his magic, that only enhanced what she felt for him, it did not cause it.

Now that Dumbledore had told her about the wands and the similarities between their magic, so much made sense to her. The ease with which he had brought her magic in tune with his in order to make the Side-Along Apparition comfortable, for example – no doubt he would have been able to do so, anyway, being a very powerful wizard, but it had seemed easy, and she had been so aware of his magic flowing through hers, almost as though it was a part of her own magic . . . there had been nothing uncomfortable or foreign about it whatsoever. And when she had collapsed in the classroom and he had held her . . . in her sudden crashing awareness of him and of her yearning for him, she had been so aware of his magic, as though it had been her own pulse she felt within her.

And, of course, there was the way he had staunched her magical drain. Minerva wished she knew more about the phenomenon. The next summer, when they were working on the wards together, the two were having tea and Albus was answering some questions she had, when she had remembered what Madam Valentius had said to her about the wards that protected underage students from magical drain.

“Professor Dumbledore, do you mind if I ask you another question?” Minerva asked.

He smiled. “Oh, I don’t believe you have exhausted me quite yet, my dear. Ask away!”

Minerva had always been reluctant to broach the subject of her accident with him, but this seemed different to her, more of a professional discussion of the wards. As long as he asked no questions of her about what she had experienced when she had lain, weeping, across his lap, of course . . .

“You remember my accident last autumn?” Minerva asked. At his nod, she continued quickly, “Remember that Madam Valentius said that I had been open to magical exhaustion, but that the drain had been staunched?”

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well,” Minerva continued, “Madam Valentius said something about the Hogwarts wards protecting students . . . but she said that she had thought that the wards only extended that particular protection to underage students, but she guessed she might be wrong about that. But, from what I’ve learned about the wards from you, she wasn’t wrong, was she? It wasn’t the wards that prevented my magical exhaustion.”

“No, Miss McGonagall, your deductions are correct. Very good,” he said.

“Yet something staunched the drain.” Minerva took a swallow of her tea, unsure how to phrase her next question. “Sir, did you do something to help me? I mean, something more than . . . more than getting me to the Hospital Wing that evening?”

Professor Dumbledore looked at her a moment before speaking. “There is a phenomenon among witches and wizards – perhaps you have even heard of it or experienced it yourself, or perhaps your mother, as a midwife has mentioned it to you – a phenomenon that sometimes occurs between a parent and a child, though sometimes between others, as well. It is spontaneous, and although it can be controlled or halted once it has begun, it is essentially . . . instinctual.” Dumbledore shrugged. “A small wizarding child, through some stress or trauma, creates a magical accident. If, because of severe stress, the accident is worse than the ordinary . . . fit of temper, the child can begin to suffer magical drain. Before it can proceed and possibly damage the child, the mother – or, in some instances, the father – holds the child and instinctively uses her magic to . . . contain the magic of her child, and even to infuse some of her own magic into her young son or daughter. This containment or infusion can be controlled or halted, as I have said, but is essentially instinctive. Such intervention is most commonly seen between a parent and a child, but also amongst others, particularly relatives. And the one who is protected from magical depletion is not always a child. It is occasionally an adult.”

Minerva sat and waited for him to continue, but he had begun drinking his tea again, and it appeared he had finished answering her question.

“So . . . what you are saying is that . . . you staunched the magical drain and prevented my magical exhaustion. Through this . . . this instinctive reaction.”

“Mmhm. Yes. Although, as I said, the first impulse is instinctive, but it is . . . controllable.” He sipped more tea. “When I realised what was happening, I was able to tap into the wards and Hogwarts magical field and draw on them. It was almost immediate, so I . . . I was fine, myself.”

Minerva swallowed, staring at him. “What do you mean, you were fine, yourself?”

Dumbledore shrugged. “Well, it is extremely rare for any true damage to be done to the magical donor, and in the case of accidents with children, the immaturity of their magic, while making them susceptible to harm from a magical drain, also makes it very easy to staunch, and the parent is barely effected, sometimes even unaware that they have done anything. If the victim of the drain is older and their magic is mature, it is more difficult and requires greater energy. And a magical drain caused by the sort of syncope you experienced, that tends to be a rather fast, violent drain, as I later learned. But you were never in any true danger, my dear,” he added, noting her alarmed expression. “You may have been ill for a number of days as your magic recovered, but you would have recovered, fully, even if nothing had intervened.”

“Even if nothing had intervened? Professor! You intervened – not some, some formless thing. And you could have been injured!”

“No, my dear. I have some store of magic, myself. And I drew on the Hogwarts magical field, as I said.” He smiled kindly at her. “Truly, Minerva, neither of us was in any danger, I assure you.”

“But my magic was mature – what you just said implied that there was a greater danger to the . . . to the donor if the victim of the drain had reached magical maturity. And magical syncope can cause a violent drain, you said. You could have harmed yourself, Professor!”

Her professor shook his head. “It was not particularly taxing, truly, my dear. And the wards assisted. Even if they hadn’t, I would have been fine. I may have been slightly more fatigued had we not been at Hogwarts, but I would have been fit as a fiddle in no time.”

“My thanks and my apologies to you at the time seemed inadequate before; now they seem completely unsatisfactory. I don’t know how to thank you at all,” Minerva answered, wishing she hadn’t asked him about it, wishing she didn’t have one more reason to admire him, to be grateful to him, to love him.

“You have thanked me, Miss McGonagall. You returned to your classes the next day, and to your Animagus training the next term. It was clearly a traumatic experience for you, and I was unable to allay that trauma for you. What I did . . . it was the least I could do. I wish it had been more.”

“Thank you . . .” Minerva once again felt guilty about the way she had avoided him after the accident. Now that she knew that he had actually intervened to prevent her magical exhaustion, it made her seem completely ungrateful in those weeks after the accident.

“Do you want to talk about it, Minerva? About the accident?” Professor Dumbledore asked, pouring her another cup of tea.

“No. I am fine now, Professor. As you can see.” And Minerva changed the topic, making a mental note to do some research into magical exhaustion and this instinctive staunching he had spoken of.

Almost precisely fifteen years after that conversation, Minerva thought again of how Dumbledore had staunched her magical drain, seemingly instinctively, on impulse, and with relatively little aftereffect for either of them. Perhaps it had been because of the harmony of their magic – if that hadn’t been what had caused him to intervene, perhaps it had made it easier for him to do so, and more effective, as well. She never had done any research on the phenomenon, she had been so busy, and she had eventually forgotten her curiosity about it, though she had never forgotten that Albus had helped her that evening. How could she forget? That event had seemed to define her life for so long. There was Before It and After It. The accident still defined her life, its consequences did, anyway. But when Minerva thought of how wonderful it felt to be with Albus now, how much she treasured her time with him, and every look, every touch, every gesture of affection, she knew that It would have arrived in time, whether she had had that accident or not. She loved Albus and was drawn to him. She wanted only to be with him and then to build the rest of her life around that. Minerva could not imagine her life without Albus’s presence, and she could not imagine his presence in her life without also imagining loving him. As a friend, of necessity . . . yet perhaps . . .

No, it was foolish of her to think there might be any other sort of love between them. But remembering how she had tried to cheer herself up the previous afternoon by thinking of all the lovely things he had done for her recently, Minerva struggled with her feelings. She wasn’t even sure whether she was struggling to create hope out of those memories or to suppress it. All that Minerva was sure of was that when Albus had touched her cheek and inserted the small rose in her hair, saying he would be her mirror, her heart had pounded harder, and it seemed such a romantic gesture. But, Minerva reminded herself sternly, it could not be a romantic gesture because they were not romantically involved. And yet, Albus thought her beautiful . . . he had told her so. If he thought her beautiful, and if he enjoyed spending time with her . . . .

Minerva held her head in her hands. How had she gone from contemplating the phenomenon of magical resonance to somehow beginning to imagine that . . . not that Albus was interested in her, but that, in time, he might come to be interested in her? Tears rose in Minerva’s eyes. She had simply felt too much in the past days, weeks, months, and she was tired of having her emotions so tossed about. She wished she had someone to talk to about it – to talk her out of doing anything foolish, at least. Not that she would ever say anything to Albus, of course, but she might begin to harbour hopes, foolishly, and leave herself open to having them dashed. Minerva shook herself and brought herself back to reality, pouring herself a last cup of tea. Distraction. She needed distraction, without a doubt. Researching magical resonance could be a distraction.

There was the matter of their magical resonance, their wands, and the way in which he had staunched her magical drain fifteen years ago. Now, there was a project for her holiday at home. Her mother, as a Healer-Midwife, had shelves full of books on Healing. Surely she must have some books that dealt with the topic of magical exhaustion and that instinctive protection Albus had exercised on her behalf; perhaps her mother could even tell her something about it. And she could ask her father for help researching wands. Minerva wasn’t entirely sure whether she wanted to tell her father about her wand or not, but perhaps if he knew more about why she was doing the research, he would be better able to help her . . . she would wait and see how it went. In the meantime, there was her walk, and perhaps a visit to the Jarvey later in the day, and Albus – the Headmaster – had agreed to meet with her in the afternoon. She had enough to occupy her time.

Minerva left the remnants of her breakfast to Blampa, dressed, and got ready for her walk, pulling on her stout shoes and putting on a tartan over robe. She stepped through her front door, closed it behind her, and paused, remembering that she had been going to change her password. Because this portrait was her door warden, it has been charmed so that only she, the Headmaster, or the Deputy could change the password.

Minerva drew her wand, pointed it at the centre of the portrait, and said, “Desinero ‘Alvarium album.’” Having cancelled the previous password, she set the new one, hesitating only slightly before saying, “Patibis ‘desidero et spero.’”

Another foolish password, “desidero et spero,” more foolish than the last, but she wouldn’t be sharing it with anyone. If Albus asked her for it, well, she’d just have to change it again, quickly, before he would have occasion to use it. But still . . . there was growing within her a foolish hope, born, no doubt, only from her own foolish desire. And she shouldn’t be doing anything to nurture it. Minerva raised her wand again, almost prepared to change the password yet again, but . . . it was only a password. Using it certainly couldn’t do her any harm.

Now, time for her walk. Past time, actually, at almost ten o’clock, but Minerva didn’t want to fall out of the habit, even for one day, so she set off briskly, trotting quickly down the stairs then out the front doors. It was a cloudy day, and the wind was strong. Minerva thought it might rain before the day was over, but it wasn’t raining at that moment, so she strode down the path towards the gates, then, on impulse, she veered off in the direction of Hagrid’s cabin. She wasn’t planning on visiting him – though if she saw him, she would stop and speak – but she had always loved the feel of the wind, and listening to it, too, as it blew through the branches, shaking the leaves. A short stroll in her tabby form through the small stand of trees near Hagrid’s appealed to Minerva. Perhaps she might even follow the line of the forest down to the wall and back.

Minerva popped into her Animagus form and trotted towards the trees before breaking into a sprint for the last several yards, and then leaping onto a tree, grasping its rough bark with her claws. Minerva looked around, then scrabbled up the tree to a large, low branch. She sharpened her front claws briefly, enjoying the feel of the bark on her paw pads and under her claws. With a yawn, Minerva stretched her full length along the branch. A little nap, then the rest of her walk, then lunch, and maybe even a visit to a Jarvey that swore like a drunken Auror. She closed her eyes and drifted into a light sleep, the wind moving through the leaves around her, a sweet lullaby.

---

The next chapter has a few "working titles" at the moment, and I haven't settled on one yet. Current favorite candidate: "Introducing Morag."

"Falling for Pomona" now has a companion one-shot, "Impressing Filius." "Falling for Pomona" should be read first. They are set in a very RaM-like universe!

[Hogwarts Duo]

Have I told you lately just how gifted you are and how much I enjoy seeing one set of events though both Albus and Minerva’s eyes??? The way you draw the comparisons and contrasts is seamless. It’s almost like looking at one of those split screen movies from the 1960’s-70’s where we see both parties doing something at the same time. Pillow Talk is the best example I can give you at the moment.

Minerva’s daydream about Albus was so much fun to read. It’s nice to see her relaxing her guard and having the occasional fantasy about him. Too bad she didn’t have the presence of mind to put down her cup of tea first…owie! Guess she’ll know better next time…and there had better be a next time!!! ;D

Also, I love learning more about their magic and how it harmonizes and complements the other. It just goes to show that they truly are matched in every single way and it has very little, if anything, to do with their mated wands. The little snippet from their past was interesting and I can see why Minerva would feel so embarrassed about her lackluster thanks back then. To think that Albus acted out of impulse to save her, with no thought of his risks, just goes to show that he loved her even back then. Most definitely not in the same way he does now, but the love was there and beginning to grow.

I can’t wait to read the next chapter. There’s a definite sense of foreboding in the air since Minerva is napping so happily in the tree. It’s like the calm before the storm. Hopefully, there isn’t anything bad on the horizon!

LOVED IT!
GLM

[sevherfan]

"... though she had raised her hand between them. At least she had only held him at a distance ..."

I don't know, I'm kinda depressed. He never correctly identifies her responses as positive, but now interpreting it as even negative seems like steps backwards.

[MMADfan]

sevherfan said:

"... though she had raised her hand between them. At least she had only held him at a distance ..."

I don't know, I'm kinda depressed. He never correctly identifies her responses as positive, but now interpreting it as even negative seems like steps backwards.

Aw, don't be depressed . . . yet. Minerva's making some strides, doncha think? Nice little cup of tea in her lap! And nice password . . . .

Just remember AAoL and remind yourself that I like happy endings! And that everything is happening as it should. And there's still one more big leap backward, but then the leap forward will be twice as big! And MMADfan likes Happy Endings! (Just a bit of drama along the way, that's all . . .)

And I do think there are a few things in the next chapter that will definitely make you smile! Does that help?

[esoterica1693]

I really like the bits about the magical resonance and am intrigued to see what Minerva turns up in her research. And what her father might say if she tells him about the wands.

And while Albus is still clueless, at least he didn't beat himself up as much as he might have! I do think he's further along in self-realization than she is--if he could just have some confidence she might not be squicked at his feelings!

And when IS Quin coming for that tour? :-)

[sevherfan]

Ok, ok, I agree Minerva is making strides. You once explained it as Albus being more comfortable with certain aspects than her. Albus has continued to be comfortable thinking about Minerva in a romantic way. He always has been more comfortable with it than her, but she has made strides this chapter in being more comfortable thinking about him in that way. She has also even become more comfortable with the idea that Albus might, maybe, kinda, in some ideal universe could think about her in that way. I suppose on the whole only one person had a step backward in one area of thinking. I summarized in my head in chart form.

	comfort thinking about other (in romantic way)	imagining other could feel the same
Minerva	positive strides this chapter	positive strides this chapter
Albus	already comfortable, continued here	backwards

But, HOLY CRAP. Your attempt to calm my depression was to mention LEAPS backward?? You are probably mentally preparing me, a really good idea. And I'm sure if you think I'll smile next chapter then it is guaranteed!

[MMADfan]

sevherfan said:

Ok, ok, I agree Minerva is making strides. You once explained it as Albus being more comfortable with certain aspects than her. Albus has continued to be comfortable thinking about Minerva in a romantic way. He always has been more comfortable with it than her, but she has made strides this chapter in being more comfortable thinking about him in that way. She has also even become more comfortable with the idea that Albus might, maybe, kinda, in some ideal universe could think about her in that way. I suppose on the whole only one person had a step backward in one area of thinking. I summarized in my head in chart form.

	comfort thinking about other (in romantic way)	imagining other could feel the same
Minerva	positive strides this chapter	positive strides this chapter
Albus	already comfortable, continued here	backwards

But, HOLY CRAP. Your attempt to calm my depression was to mention LEAPS backward?? You are probably mentally preparing me, a really good idea. And I'm sure if you think I'll smile next chapter then it is guaranteed!

A chart, no less! I didn't think anyone else could be quite as nutty as I am when it comes to this story, but . . . ;D

Very cute chart. And rather perceptive way to divide it up. There's another chapter coming up soon. Today, in fact. I hope you do have a smile or two before the end of it!

[MMADfan]

Note: Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter. Glad y'all liked the magical resonance and such.

Posted in two parts because of length.

---

CI: Meeting Morag

Minerva slept as the breeze whispered through the leaves around her, ruffling her fur and tickling her whiskers. She dreamt of lying in a warm lap, fingers gently caressing her head. She rolled and stretched, opening kitty eyes to see Albus above her. With a smile and the ease that comes in a dream, she stretched once more and returned to her ordinary form, her head still resting in his lap, but his caresses didn’t cease. His fingers gently traced her face, softly following the line of her jaw to her neck. She let her head fall back, and his caresses continued over her throat, gentle, loving touches; as his hand moved lower, the tips of his fingers brushing the tender skin of her breasts, Minerva arched in pleasure and her robes fell open, exposing her completely to the exploring fingers and the blue eyes that watched their journey. “Beautiful, always so beautiful, my dear Minerva,” Albus whispered, and Minerva, completely unselfconscious in her dream, opened her robes to him further, so they fell away from her body, baring herself to him entirely. Just as his hand drifted down over her stomach, Minerva woke on her branch as the wind shook her tree and a hard, sudden rain began. With a yowl, a very displeased tabby scrambled from her previously comfortable perch. The rain was coming down in sheets and she was soaked before she hit the ground.

No point now in returning to her ordinary form, Minerva thought, and she streaked toward the castle, thinking for a moment of stopping at Hagrid’s, but immediately deciding against it, instead making for the front doors. By the time she reached them, she was scarcely recognisable as a cat, she was so bedraggled. If she had been in her ordinary form, she would have sworn a blue streak. Much to her joy, she saw that the front doors were open, and she dashed through them; only after crossing the threshold did she notice the two people standing in the entry hall, apparently watching the rain. One of them was Albus, the other was a woman whom she recognised from the Ministry, the minister-for-something-or-other, she had once called her in a fit of pique. It was Philomena Yaxley, the Minister for International Magical Cooperation, and one of the less disagreeable ministers, Minerva had to admit – although that was not necessarily saying much.

As Minerva made her sodden appearance, the old witch actually let out a squeak and jumped back a few feet.

“A creature!” she said, this time squeaking articulately. “Albus! A creature!”

“Ah, yes, a ‘creature,’” Albus said with a smile. “A rather damp creature. A cat, actually.”

Minerva wanted to make an escape up the stairs. She couldn’t perform any kind of drying charm while in her Animagus form, and she certainly wasn’t going to transform into her ordinary form in front of them. She would be just as soaked through as she was now, and certainly as uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the other witch was standing in front of the stairs, and after the witch’s reaction to her appearance in the hallway, there was no telling what she might do if Minerva tried to run past her. Faint or something ridiculous like that, Minerva thought. So she just stood there and dripped onto the flagstone and waited. Albus would get the silly thing to move out of her way.

“Oh,” Minister Yaxley said, seeming to relax slightly. “Is she yours?”

“Is she mine? No, I wouldn’t say that . . . no, I believe she belongs to no one but herself. Cats are like that.” Albus just stood and smiled down at Minerva, who glared wetly at him.

“Mm, my sister always has at least one – and I’d say they own her rather than the other way ’round,” the witch answered, but still looking at Minerva with some scepticism.

Minerva stared at Albus. What was he waiting for? Now she definitely couldn’t transform here in the hallway, even if she’d wanted to.

Albus waved his wand over her, drying her off. Well, that was something, at least. Minerva sat, avoiding the puddle she’d made where she’d dripped all over the floor.

“Good mouser?” asked the minister.

“Eh?”

“A mouser – is she good for anything? Or does she just hang about? My sister’s cats all just hang about.”

“I can’t say I’ve seen her catching mice – ”

“Hmph. Sounds as useless as my sister’s moggies. She have a name?”

“Er, I sometimes call her ‘little one,’ but – ”

“My sister’s cats all have peculiar names – Beauregard, Clarisse, Orion, Puck – and Puck is determined to live up to his namesake, unfortunately. And then there was the one she named Casanova! That one was a real monster – would go for anything on four paws and took a most unseemly interest in my Pekinese, little Bootikins. Be careful what you name this one, Albus! Don’t want to be calling her something unsuitable, especially in a school full of children.”

“Bootikins”? And she thought her sister had odd names for her cats? This witch was quickly moving from the category “less disagreeable” to “most annoying,” and Minerva could feel a hiss coming on. Not that she would give in, of course. Instead, she made a pretence of washing her whiskers and retained her dignity.

“I do believe her name is ‘Morag,’” Albus said.

Minerva froze, paw lifted to her face. He wouldn’t dare.

“Well, almost as peculiar as the names my sister gives the beasts, but at least it’s not unsuitable around children.”

“Here, Morag, come here, little one!” Albus bent over and called her to him, his eyes twinkling. He had to be joking.

Minerva stood very deliberately, turned, sat back down, and continued to pretend to clean her whiskers. Albus straightened and laughed.

“Exactly why I won’t have a cat, Albus. Well . . . I believe the rain is letting up. It’s just drizzling now. I can Apparate from the gates to Madam Puddifoots without becoming too wet.”

“May I offer you an Impervius Charm?”

Minerva looked over at the old witch.

“Still the charming gentleman, aren’t you, Albus?” she replied with a smile. “But no, thank you, I am quite happy casting my own if need be.” The old witch shook her head. “You know, I can’t imagine what Val was thinking, that business a few years ago. But she was – and remains – a fool. And now she’s marrying another one. My nephew. I assume you’ve heard.”

“Yes, it was in the Prophet.”

“Mm. I was in Majorca when my cousin made her . . . announcement.” The witch lifted a lip in distaste. “I was never so happy to have missed a social occasion as I was that one. Embarrassed by both sides of the family simultaneously. Such a treat that would have been.”

Well, maybe the witch didn’t appreciate cats, but she couldn’t be all bad. She clearly didn’t like Valerianna.

Albus smiled politely. “I have heard from others who wished they had been present.”

“Yes, well, it may have been amusing if one had been an invisible onlooker, I suppose. But, still, Albus . . . I never wanted to say anything before, but now that she’s latched onto my nephew . . . perhaps it’s still forward of me, but we have known each other for more decades than I can count using both hands, and I have to say I was glad when you were shut of her. Neither of you would have been happy. She needs someone more like Francis; as toadlike as he may appear, he is good for her in an odd sort of way. And you, oh, my old friend!” Minister Yaxley shook her head and smiled at him. “You have been blessed in so many ways, and yet you have known so much loss, so many burdens, and borne so much alone. But I hope it does not sound unkind when I say that I was happy to learn that you were no longer . . . associating with my cousin. I do wish you happiness, Albus, and a relief from your . . . solitary life, but it is an unpleasant truth that Val is an aggressive, self-centred, social-climbing witch. Gordon was too good for her, and she never appreciated him properly. She never would have understood you, Albus, except in the most superficial way.”

Minerva could not see Albus’s face, but she could only imagine how awkward he was feeling. She would say that it served him right for calling her “Morag,” but remembering how Albus had cut his steak into hash when the conversation had turned to Valerianna that time at lunch – and it hadn’t even been a conversation in which he had figured – Minerva could only feel sympathy for him.

“Yes, well, I do not believe we could have sustained a successful acquaintance for very long, under any circumstances, except one of the most casual sort,” Albus answered. “It was simply . . . unfortunate.”

“Perhaps so, but she behaved very badly, Albus, and I have been sorry for that. . . .” The older witch trailed off, sounding genuinely sad. “Well, it’s all over and done, now! As is the rain! Lovely!”

The two stepped toward the door.

“Good afternoon, Philomena,” Albus said.

“Good afternoon, Albus,” the minister replied, offering her hand. Albus took it and bowed, his lips barely grazing the witch’s knuckles before he straightened, releasing her hand.

Albus stood in the doorway and watched the minister walk away down the drive to the gates. To her cat’s eyes, he seemed a simple dark silhouette of greys against the daylight beyond. Minerva stood and walked over to him, rubbing against his legs and bumping her head against his shins. It was a behaviour she rarely exhibited, but she felt that he needed a bit of comforting, and yet after what she had overheard, he would likely feel more awkward if she simply popped back into her ordinary form. Not to mention, she was probably not looking her best right then.

“So . . . Morag,” Albus said softly, looking down at her, “or perhaps another name would suit you better, hmm?” Albus bent over, crouching a bit, and rubbed her head for a moment. “A nice name . . . a nice name for a cat . . . Rags? Would you like that? I know it doesn’t sound particularly dignified, but I think it’s cute, and much nicer than ‘Morag.’ What do you think, my dear?” Albus asked, still speaking softly.

Minerva thought he was certainly right about it not being dignified, but if he thought it was cute, and if it would stop him from calling her Morag – she purred and rubbed against him again.

“All right, then, Rags. You know, it will soon be time for lunch. But perhaps you might like a saucer of milk or a cup of tea with me in the meantime?”

Minerva did – not the milk, but the tea – yet she was sure that she must look a state after having been caught in the rain, even after Albus’s drying charm. She hesitated, standing on his feet.

“Undecided? Well, you don’t have to decide right away. May I give you a lift?” Albus picked her up, holding her gently against his chest, left arm under her legs, his right arm providing her upper body with support. Minerva could jump down easily from this position, but was also quite comfortable in it.

Albus turned, and the front doors shut with a muted thunk behind him. He began to climb the stairs. When they reached the first floor, he said softly, “Introducing you to Minister Yaxley as Morag the Cat and not as Minerva McGonagall led her, not unexpectedly, to speak to me as though in the presence of Morag the Cat.” Albus stroked Minerva’s head. “I was in school with Philomena. She was in the same year as Crispinian and Gwynllian,” he said, naming her mother’s parents, “so Philomena and I have known each other for a very long time. We may not be the closest of friends, but we have always been on good terms, and there is something about knowing someone for that long . . .” Albus shrugged. “She felt free to speak to me as an old friend, you see, and not knowing you were there, or rather, being under the impression that you were Morag the Cat – ”

Minerva bumped up against his jaw, interrupting him, then rubbed her head against his shoulder and purred. He really didn’t need to explain to her. It was all quite obvious, and there was no point in him feeling any more embarrassed than he already did.

“So . . . tea? Or I could offer you that saucer of milk?” Albus said as they reached the second floor.

Minerva did not particularly want to transform in front of him, not having any idea what kind of a state she was in, but she also didn’t want him to think that she was avoiding him, either, so she just settled down in his arms. When they got to his office, she could visit his loo and transform then. She had her wand with her; it would be quick work to make herself presentable.

Albus carried her to the gargoyle, Minerva feeling rather spoiled at being carried about, but he didn’t seem to mind, and it was nice to settle against his chest. He was very nice and warm, and even as a cat, she could feel his magic humming with his pulse. She closed her eyes in kitty bliss as they entered the stairway and started the ride up.

“Well, you certainly do seem to have got used to this, Raggles! You’ll soon be as lazy as Philomena’s sister’s cats!” he teased.

Minerva opened one eye, decided that the name “Raggles” was slightly less offensive than “Rags,” and much better than “Morag,” and, in addition to that, he was holding her a little bit closer and rubbing her chin with his right thumb, so she really couldn’t complain, and she closed her eye again. When they reached his office, Minerva did not particularly want to get down. Perhaps a saucer of milk wouldn’t be so bad, if she could manage to drink it while curled up in his lap. That thought reminded her suddenly of the dream she had been having just before the rain woke her. She was very glad that she was in her Animagus form, or she surely would have blushed beet-red. Minerva hopped down and trotted over to the brass staircase. She stood at the bottom and looked over at Albus.

“They’re charmed to recognise you no matter your form; go on up – I assume you want to use the loo. I’ll call Wilspy for tea – unless you’d prefer a saucer of milk?”

Minerva flicked the tip of her tail at him, twitched an ear, and marched up the stairs, displaying precisely what she thought of his witticism. Albus laughed.

“Tea, it is, then!”

Minerva entered his sitting room and looked around. The door to the loo was closed, but the one to his bedroom was open. With barely any hesitation, she walked to that door, rationalising to herself that she didn’t want to transform just yet. The bedroom door was open just enough for her to ease through it without having to open it any further. She walked the few feet from the door into the room and turned the corner to head toward the loo, suddenly feeling self-conscious and guilty for entering his bedroom without his permission. She certainly wouldn’t want anyone just making free in her rooms like that – except, of course, for Albus, when he had arranged her new painting for her. But that had been entirely different. She had no good excuse for having entered his bedroom, none but the rather thin one that she didn’t want to transform just yet.

Still, when Minerva reached the door to the loo, which was just slightly ajar, she paused and looked around her. She had liked the room when she had seen it before, and it was still appealing, though the sunny yellow of the bedroom walls was rather lost on her cat’s eyes. It was still light, bright, and airy. The bed, she remembered, had been covered with a bedspread of a creamy colour with designs in dark red, green, and gold, reminiscent of Gryffindor House but without slavishly following that colour scheme. His sheets had been a pale gold, and he’d had a lightweight gold coverlet. The bed itself was a typical Hogwarts four-poster, but with easily enough room to sleep a small family, it now seemed, from her cat’s vantage point, but probably only a bit larger than her own full-sized bed. The bed curtains were tied to the posts for the summer – she doubted he ever used them. He wouldn’t need them for privacy, certainly, and although Hogwarts could be drafty in the winter, a charm or two could take care of that more effectively than any bed curtains.

There was a large wardrobe of rather ornate design against the wall that ran between the door to the bedroom and the one to his backstairs, and there was a low chest of drawers against the back wall beside the entry to the stairway. A small fireplace, which she hadn’t noticed before, its grate empty, was set into the far wall between two large windows. Other than a bench, a single chair, and two bedside tables, the large room had little else in it. Not a single picture hung on the walls, although there were some odds and ends on the small tables and the dresser, which she couldn’t see well from her current vantage point. Looking around, wondering at the lack of a portrait in his bedroom, or at least of a landscape, as he had given her, she did notice that the wall just beyond the door to the loo and directly opposite the foot of the bed was painted with some kind of design.

Minerva trotted a little ways across the room and looked up at it. Although her colour vision was limited when she was in her Animagus form, she could see that this was a marvellous mural of a phoenix, wings spread, looking toward the heavens, beak partially open, as if in a final song, and surrounded by flames, which had been charmed to flicker and dance about the bird, though the phoenix itself was frozen in the midst of its fiery transformation. Above the bird, rays of sunshine appeared to stream from behind some clouds, and the overall effect was more than pleasing, even to her cat’s eyes. The next time she was in here, Minerva decided, she would take a better look at the painting, which appeared to be some kind of fresco done in the plaster that covered the room’s stone walls. For now, however, she had spent too much time gawking about a room that she had no business being in, and she went back over to the loo and gently pushed the door open with her paw.

As soon as Minerva was in the loo, she transformed to her ordinary form, and a lamp lit in response to her presence. Handy feature, Minerva thought, as she waved her wand and lit the other one, the better to see the damage the storm had done. Looking in the mirror, Minerva was very glad she had not transformed in front of anyone. Half of her hair was scraggling from what used to be a French twist, the other half was still up, but in a dreadful mess of knots, and it appeared she had lost some of her Charmed hairpins, though she couldn’t imagine how. And her clothes . . . wrinkled wasn’t the word for them.

Minerva removed her tartan over robe, hoping that her pale green under robe might be less of a mess, but it had fared no better. She had to smile; perhaps “Rags” was a more appropriate name than she had thought! She waved her wand experimentally, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles. Improved, but still not at all presentable. It would be easier if she could hang the robe up and cast a charm at the entire garment when she wasn’t wearing it. Doing it while looking in the mirror like this was not ideal. And then, her hair . . . well, that could be dealt with easily enough. She wouldn’t look perfect, but she would be presentable. Just as she was thinking about this, there was a light knock on the door, and she heard Albus’s voice.

---

Continued in the next post.

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post.

CI: Meeting Morag, continued

“All right, my dear? I thought we might take tea in the sitting room rather than my office. How are you coming?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid, Albus. I look dreadful.”

“Surely you exaggerate – ”

“I most certainly don’t.” Minerva giggled. “I do look raggedy, I’m afraid!”

Albus chuckled. “Is there anything I can do to assist? I mean . . . you may have Wilspy’s services, if you would like.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion, Albus. Thank you.”

“Just give her a shout, then; she’ll come for you.”

“Wilspy,” Minerva called.

A few seconds later, Albus’s house-elf popped into the loo.

“Oh, Professor Dumbledore’s Professor Minerva!” she said, shaking her head and clucking as she looked her up and down. “Where you been?!” The old elf looked up at her quizzically, wrinkling her brow. “You swimming with the Giant Squid today?”

Minerva laughed out loud. She didn’t think she’d ever heard a house-elf make a joke before – but perhaps Wilspy hadn’t been joking. The house-elf smiled back, though, her entire face a crinkle of merriment.

“I fetch the Professor’s Professor Minerva a robe. Professor’s Minerva, you go take shower. Leave clothes on the floor. All of them.” When Minerva didn’t make a move, the old elf cocked her head at Minerva. “Shower, Professor’s Minerva. Through there.” She pointed at the door on the other side of the loo.

“Umm, I don’t need a shower . . . you can just fetch me some robes, perhaps my brush.”

Wilspy put one hand on her hip and shook a finger at Minerva. “Professor’s Professor Minerva takes a shower! You’s – you’s – you’s a MESS!”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “All right, all right! But it’s not my idea!”

Wilspy did a very good imitation of her mother’s glare, Minerva thought. “Should be your idea! No shower, no robes! Mess, mess, mess!” The house-elf shook her head and popped out of the room, disgusted with the silly human.

Minerva went to the door to the sitting room and opened it a crack. “Albus?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Don’t get up – don’t come over. Wilspy is insisting I take a shower before she’ll bring me any clean robes.”

“Take your time, my dear. And help yourself to whatever you need. Just call if you need anything – I mean, call Wilspy, of course. Or me. Um, take your time.”

Minerva closed the door and crossed over to his bathroom. She hadn’t been in it before, though she had noticed it the last time she’d used the loo. It was similar to her own, if somewhat larger, and it had a separate shower and bathtub, just as hers had. Casting a glance at the bathtub and noticing that it had the same number of spigots as her own tub did, she wondered whether he kept the same scented soaps on tap as she did. But she was here for a shower, not to inspect the bathroom. A quick shower.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable stripping in a strange bathroom – Albus’s bathroom, at that – Minerva hurriedly removed her shoes, socks, robe, chemise, and panties, then pulled the Charmed pins from what was left of her hairdo. As she stepped toward the shower to turn on the water, Minerva felt a sudden thrill go through her at the thought that Albus was naked in this same space on a regular basis. She shivered and slid open the glass shower door to the very large, circular shower stall. As she did that, she had an unbidden vision of doing so with Albus standing naked under the shower.

Minerva gripped the edge of the shower door. What was wrong with her? She had to gain some control over herself. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

The shower could be regulated manually or magically, she saw, and she experimented until the water was pleasantly warm. There were several jets set at intervals in the surrounding wall and a large shower head hanging centrally above the stall, and a hand-held contraption, as well. Minerva stepped in, and again, the image came to her of stepping into the shower and joining Albus. Oh, gods, she had to stop this. Just wash and be done with it!

But as she lathered her body, Minerva closed her eyes and imagined calling Albus for help, as he, in complete innocence, had suggested she do. And he would step in, and he would wash her . . . he would wash her all over; and as Minerva’s hands ran over her body, she imagined they were his hands, instead, touching her breasts, her stomach, her – giving a low, pained moan, Minerva bent her head and gripped the handrail next to the shower door. Tears sprang to her eyes. Why did she do this to herself? And why couldn’t she just be normal? Just be normal and take a shower and change her clothes and go have tea then go to lunch and not think about Albus at all. . . . What was wrong with her?

Minerva turned her face into the shower and let the water run over her. She didn’t even bother washing her hair. It would be fine. She had taken her bloody shower, just as that house-elf had wanted. Now where were her clothes? Minerva turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Her rumpled clothes were gone, but she didn’t see any replacements. Bloody interfering little elf!

Minerva dried herself with a large, very fluffy, royal purple towel, and by the time she had wrapped another equally large purple towel around her and begun to charm her hair dry and detangle it, she was feeling somewhat better. No point in blaming a house-elf for her own foolishness. But when she had dried her hair and put it up in a French twist again, relying on charms and the few hairpins remaining to her, she still had no clean clothes. She took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door to the loo, just in case Albus was in there, then opened it. No clean clothes there, either.

“Wilspy!” Nothing. “Wilspy!” Where was that elf?

Minerva opened the door to the sitting room a crack. “Albus?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Wilspy has taken my clothes, but she hasn’t brought me any clean ones. I’ve called her, but she’s not come.”

“How peculiar . . . she just delivered the tea a moment ago. Wilspy!” Albus called his house-elf.

After several heart-beats, Minerva heard the house-elf enter the sitting room with a crack.

“Wilspy, Professor McGonagall needs her robes.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore. They’s in the bedroom.”

“Did you hear that, Minerva?”

“Yes.”

“Go on in – wait, I just need to close the door.” Minerva heard him move across the room and close the bedroom door. “There, my dear! Now you have your privacy. I’ll keep your tea warm for you!”

“Thank you, Albus.” Minerva closed the door. This was very uncomfortable. Much more than it should be. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again, and went into Albus’s bedroom.

There, laid out on his bed, were her robes. They were hardly suitable. Hardly suitable for that place and time, at least. Whatever was Wilspy thinking? She must be unused to taking care of witches was the only thing that Minerva could think. At least she’d brought her a pair of knickers, unlike the time when she was a student and the elf had brought her everything but underwear. Of course, a lot of wizards didn’t wear much in the way of underclothes, so it wasn’t entirely surprising, Minerva supposed, but she gratefully pulled on her panties. There was no camisole, but as the robe Wilspy had brought her was one of her dress robes with a very low neckline – one couldn’t even really call it a neckline, it was so low – she couldn’t have worn one without it showing, anyway. She had brought the gown back with her from her parents and had almost packed it to wear at the Gamps, then had decided against it. It was deep blue with black threads running through it, making the blue seem to shimmer like a midnight sky. The fabric was heavy, barely rippling when she moved, hanging straight from her waist and trailing out behind her dramatically. The skirts were in layers that rustled as she walked, and were longer than she remembered them being. Minerva hadn’t worn it in at least seven or eight years; it was something she’d had made for her in Germany when she had required dress robes for a New Year’s Eve party. There was a cape that went with it, but Wilspy hadn’t included that. Nor had she brought her shoes or stockings, Minerva now noticed. Really! What was that house-elf thinking?

Minerva pulled on the robe, feeling both underdressed and overdressed, even without any jewellery – or any shoes. Well, she could Transfigure a pair if Albus loaned her something to use. Perhaps she should ask for something to cover herself with, as well. The sides of the gown were low, the bodice cut so that both the back and shoulders were bare, coming to a vee just below the waist, and then sweeping up her sides toward the front of the robe, where her decolletage was emphasised in a wider, though less deep, vee-shape. Blushing slightly, wondering what on earth Albus would think when he saw her in the ridiculous gown, and wishing for the matching cape, Minerva picked up her long skirts so that she wouldn’t trip over them, at least, and started toward the door to the sitting room. Before she left, Minerva paused to take a good look at the mural. Yes, it was a fresco, she thought, and not simply a painting. The flames looked quite realistic as they rose around the phoenix, licking its wings. The phoenix itself did not move, but Minerva still had the sense that it could fly off the wall in a burst of fire at any moment.

Minerva took a deep breath. Short of begging Wilspy to bring her different robes, this would have to do. She could Transfigure the gown, but she hated Transfiguring good clothes. They never seemed quite the same afterward and seemed to wear out more quickly, as well. She walked toward the sitting room, the flagstone refreshingly cold on her bare feet, and opened the door. Albus was sitting on the sofa, waiting for her as he had promised, tea set on the low table in front of him. When she entered the room, padding across the slightly bristly Persian carpets toward him, he stood, the parchments he had been reading held loosely in his hand, then fluttering to the sofa.

“Oh, my dear, you look . . .” Albus blinked at her and swallowed.

“I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s what Wilspy brought.”

“You look absolutely . . . lovely. Absolutely. Just . . . beautiful, my dear.” He waved his hand toward the armchair. “Please, sit. I will be mother.” He smiled at her. “I hope this does not sound offensive, my dear, but in that dress . . . you should just . . . sit and . . . be beautiful.”

Minerva blushed. “Well, as I said, it’s rather a ridiculous thing to be wearing at this time of day, in the middle of Hogwarts.” Minerva sat, smoothing her skirts under her. “And she didn’t bring any shoes.”

“Well, I’m sure we can remedy that.”

“But Albus, I can’t possibly be seen in this, I look ridiculous, and lunch is in half an hour. I should just go and change, and hope no one sees me on my way to my rooms.”

“You needn’t arrive punctually at noon. Let’s have our tea, I’ll loan you something so you can have a pair of slippers to wear, and then I’ll walk you down the back stair and to your rooms,” Albus said, as he poured her tea and handed her a cup. “We can avoid people, I should think. And there aren’t many left in the castle, anyway, and no one who would mind, I’m sure.” He smiled. “And you do look lovely, not ridiculous.”

Minerva sighed, but accepted his tea and his suggestion, wishing she could cover up, though. She felt indecent in the revealing robe, sitting there in the middle of the day. It would have been bad enough with anyone else, but somehow, after her thoughts in the shower, Minerva felt exposed and embarrassed in front of Albus.

Determined to behave normally even if she felt far from normal, Minerva asked, “So, you had a meeting with Minister Yaxley this morning?”

“Yes, just finishing up some business. I had been going to meet her at the Ministry, but she was meeting a friend in Hogsmeade, so she came here, instead.”

“Are you still going to have to go into London today?”

“No, I don’t have anything more until the Wizengamot convenes on Friday afternoon for a few hours.” He seemed to wince when he mentioned the Wizengamot.

“Is that interesting, being on the Wizengamot?”

“I suppose, in a way, it is . . . but interesting is not always pleasant. And there are many unpleasant aspects to sitting on the Wizengamot.”

“Why do it, then?” Minerva asked, immediately regretting the question as stupid, or impertinent, or both.

Albus didn’t seem to think it either of those things, though, and answered seriously, “There may be other wizards and witches who could do the work as well as I, and ones who would take it seriously, as it should be taken, but they are not always the ones chosen. I feel that as I was asked to sit on the Wizengamot, and knowing that I would do my best . . . even when that may sometimes be insufficient . . . it would have been negligent of me not to accept. There is much good that I can do, and some harm that I can prevent, as a member of the Wizengamot. I feel . . . obligated.”

Minerva nodded. “I see . . . and I am sure that you do very well, and that you treat your obligations seriously. But . . . why did you not accept the position of Minister for Magic, then?”

Albus set down his cup and saucer and looked past her. A cloud seemed to cross his face. “What is it you wish to know?”

“I’m just curious; it seems you could do even more good there, and prevent more harm, and you were asked. . . .”

The cloud lifted, and Albus smiled slightly. “There are more constraints on a Minister than you may think, Minerva. And where there aren’t, perhaps there should be.” He looked at her thoughtfully a moment. “And the Wizengamot is a council. I am one among many.”

“You never wanted to be Minister? Never considered it?”

Albus shook his head. “No. When I was young, I wanted more than that, and when I grew older, I wanted less, and now . . . I want what I have.” He smiled at her. “And part of that is being Hogwarts Headmaster. I couldn’t be Minister and Headmaster at the same time.”

Minerva smiled back. “And Hogwarts needs you. So it’s good this is where you want to be.”

“I would be nowhere else at this moment, Minerva,” Albus said softly.

With his gaze on her, Minerva felt a blush rising. If only he meant that he wanted to be nowhere but with her . . .

Minerva set down her cup. “Thank you for the tea. I think I should try to sort out some more appropriate robes, though. It’s getting late.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Albus stood and held out his hand to her. “Come, I’ll walk you down the backstairs.”

“I still have no shoes – ” Minerva said, taking his hand and rising.

“We’ll take care of that on the way.” Albus offered her his arm and smiled. “I feel distinctly underdressed, my dear. Positively unkempt!”

Minerva laughed. “You’ll have to ask Wilspy to choose your attire, then!” Minerva shook her head. “I can’t imagine what went through that head of hers! She’s never seen me dress this way before!”

Albus chuckled and led Minerva into his bedroom.

“Now, if you will have a seat. I believe . . . yes, here,” Albus said and pulled a pair of socks from a drawer in his wardrobe. “I think these will do, with a bit of modification, for a pair of slippers for you – if you don’t mind! They’re new.” He held up a pair of multi-coloured woolen socks.

“That’s fine – but you can just use a pair of old ones.” Minerva perched on the bench.

Albus had already waved his wand and Transfigured them into a pair of slippers.

“I wasn’t sure of the size, but try these, my dear,” he said, handing them to her.

Minerva took them. They were very soft, but they had a flexible sole and looked like lightweight shoes, though they were still quite colourful. Feeling somewhat self-conscious, she crossed her right leg over her left and slipped one on.

“It’s perfect. Thank you. Quite comfortable.” Trying not to be too awkward about it, she put the other one on the other foot and stood.

“Ready, then?” Albus asked. He already had the door to the stairs open and was waiting for her there.

Minerva followed him down the stairs, using the same method she had before, placing one hand lightly on his shoulder. She held her skirts up with her other hand. Halfway down, though, one of her feet caught in the voluminous skirts, and she began to trip, falling forward and grasping his shoulder harder. Before she could catch herself or fall further, Albus had already turned and caught her, right hand at her waist, the other just under her arm. The robe was cut so low that his upper hand was warm against her bare skin. She gasped in surprise.

“I have you, Minerva.”

Minerva looked down at him, his eyes so dark in the flickering torchlight, his lips slightly parted, and her heart beat faster. She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure.

“All right, Minerva?” he asked.

She nodded and opened her eyes. “Yes, fine. I was just startled.” She loosened her grip on him, and he removed his hand from her side but kept hold of her waist.

“You’re sure, then?”

“Of course. It’s these skirts – too long.” Minerva took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It is lucky you were so fast, or we both might have taken a tumble. Down the stairs. If I had fallen on you.” The way she was talking, she thought, it sounded as though she had fallen – on her head – more than once. “I’m fine, though,” she said lightly. “Thank you.”

Albus nodded and turned back around. “We’ll go more slowly.”

This time Minerva held on a little more tightly, and not simply for the pleasure of feeling his shoulder beneath her hand, but also just for a bit more security. They made it to the bottom of the stair with no more difficulties, and Albus opened the door.

Reaching the end of the narrow corridor, Albus turned to Minerva and asked, “Would you prefer to take the main stairs now, or the side stairs over by Ravenclaw? The first is faster, but if you are concerned about being seen, we might be less likely to encounter anyone if we took the latter way.”

Minerva nodded. “Let’s do that, then – the side stairs.” As they walked down the hallway toward Ravenclaw, Minerva said, “I do wonder whether Wilspy has developed a peculiar sense of humour, and giving me this robe is her notion of a joke.”

Albus chuckled. “Wilspy probably had some consideration in mind other than practicality.” He tilted his head and looked at Minerva. “Perhaps she thought that was your prettiest robe and that you would be pleased to wear it.”

Minerva let out a short laugh. “Perhaps. But you know, I do think she does have a sense of humour, Albus. She asked me if I had been swimming with the Giant Squid, and I could swear she thought it was funny.”

“It is funny, too,” Albus answered with a laugh. “Now I do wish I had seen you, if you looked as though you’d been swimming with the Giant Squid!”

“Hmmph. I don’t know which would be more embarrassing – that or this!” Minerva rolled her eyes, gesturing at her robe, but she smiled.

They reached her rooms. Minerva froze and looked at the portrait. She had changed her password. To something utterly ridiculous. Why on earth had she done that? Hadn’t she embarrassed herself enough the day before? Did she have to top it off today by waltzing around in a ball gown in the middle of Hogwarts after having half-drowned herself in a rainstorm then having to shower in the Headmaster’s bathroom? And now she had changed her password, which she had been so sure that Albus would never hear, and she had to use the silly thing there in front of him. He would surely remember the password she had derived it from. He would likely have no idea what her desire was for, nor her hope, but it was nonetheless embarrassing.

“Something wrong, Minerva?” Albus asked.

“Hmm? No . . . just thinking. You go on. I’ll meet you downstairs. Go ahead. No need to wait.”

“I don’t mind, really. I can peruse your shelves for another novel while I wait. I am almost through with the last one I borrowed, and you have a lot of newer ones I haven’t seen before.”

Minerva nodded. “That’s fine.” She turned to the portrait and muttered, “Desidero-et-spero,” almost making one word of the phrase. Fortunately, the Knight seemed to understand her, and he bowed and released the door for her.

“Just make yourself at home. Find yourself a book or two. I will try to be fast.”

Minerva did try to be fast, shucking off the slippers, tossing her dress robe on the bed, pulling on a clean camisole and her pale blue robes, then finding shoes and stockings. A few minutes later, she returned to the sitting room where Albus stood waiting by the door, holding a single book in his hands.

“Do you mind if I borrow this one?” he asked, holding it up.

“You may borrow any of them – except Pnin, I’m not quite through with that one yet. Peculiar book Melina gave me.”

Albus nodded and slipped the book into his pocket.

As they stepped out the door, Minerva noted his awkwardness. “You know, Albus, I think I am going to change my password again before I leave tomorrow, and I don’t want to give you one and have it not work if you try to use it. Why don’t I stop by your office on my way out tomorrow, and I can tell you what it is then – that way if you’d like to borrow a book, you can let yourself in.”

“That’s all right, Minerva, you needn’t – ”

“I know, but I’d like to. You may not have occasion to use it, but if you wish to – you may!” The reached the stairs and Minerva took his arm, stopping him for a moment. “I don’t want you to feel you aren’t welcome, Albus. You are, and not just as Headmaster in an emergency, but as my friend, all right?”

“As long as you don’t feel obligated; I know it was a favour to me before. You needn’t see it as a precedent.” He made a move to start down the stairs, but Minerva stopped him with a light pressure to his arm.

“I don’t see it that way.” She looked at him closely. “I would share it with you as a friend, not out of a sense of obligation.”

He began down the stairs. “But one needn’t share everything with friends, and one needn’t share one’s password with every person whom one considers a friend. Nor even with only one friend. It is unnecessary and likely unwise. And, as you mentioned before, if there were a true emergency, I am perfectly able to enter without it.” Albus glanced over at her. “I don’t believe I shared the password to my quarters with more than two people during my entire time as Deputy Headmaster. So I certainly understand if you’d rather not, Minerva; it is natural. And it would be awkward if you felt you had to give your password to me every time you changed it simply because you happened to share it with me once. That could become onerous and to feel like an obligation, regardless of how it began.”

“Yes, well, I do see your point, and I agree . . . but it’s not as though I go about sharing it with all and sundry, either, Albus. It’s one thing when I’m going to be about the castle – you can just visit when I happen to be in. But when I’m away, why not have the password? You might have no occasion to use it, but if you find yourself needing something to read, or whatever, you can just let yourself in. This way, too, it won’t become onerous, as you suggest it might. I’ll just give it to you when I know I’m going to be away from the castle for a while, as I will be this week.”

Albus smiled at her. “If you’re sure – I don’t want you to feel obligated, or as though I am simply inviting myself in.”

“Of course I’m sure! And I had already invited you to stop by whenever you wanted, help yourself to my Muggle novels,” Minerva said.

“Very well, my dear. That would be nice. But I do not wish to be impertinent.”

Minerva couldn’t help herself, and she laughed at that. “Oh, Albus! Impertinent? I don’t think I would ever describe you that way. But,” she added, trying to address his underlying concern seriously, “if you ever are impertinent, I will tell you. You do have an impertinent house-elf, though. A shower may have been a good idea, but I would have preferred not to have submitted to house-elf extortion in taking it.”

“I will speak to her about that,” Albus said seriously.

“Oh, don’t do that. It was a good idea. She just had a way of making me feel . . . I don’t know.”

“Like a child? She does the same to me, still. Scolds me as though I were still a boy in her care.” Albus chuckled.

“How old is she?” Minerva asked; she had known that Wilspy was a Dumbledore house-elf, perhaps even the only Dumbledore house-elf, but she had no idea that she had taken care of Albus as a child.

“Oh, let me see now . . . I believe she is one hundred-forty. Yes, one hundred-forty,” he said, nodding.

“One hundred-forty?” Minerva repeated, astonished. Fwisky was almost one hundred, and Minerva thought her ancient.

“Mmm. Happy house-elves can live to be, oh, one hundred-eighty, two hundred, even. She was a fairly young elf when she first started caring for me. Sometimes, she does still treat me like a little boy.” Albus gave a small grin, eyes twinkling, and he leaned toward Minerva and whispered, “And sometimes, I don’t even mind!”

Minerva laughed and the two went in to lunch.

[sevherfan]

awwwwwww.
hehehehe.

[Aurinko]

<grins madly>

Fabulous.

They're finally getting somewhere. Slowly. Very slowly, but I'm nonetheless excited for them. Love your secondary characters. They're all such wonderful personalities--even your amusingly intrepid house elves.

[Hogwarts Duo]

I go away for a weekend and come back to a brand, new, shiny chapter. Woo Hoo! Just what I needed to unwind and to get my week started on the right foot!

Wow, Minerva certainly has a vivid dream-life with Albus. Too bad it hasn’t spilled over into her waking life as well. Sigh, maybe one day she’ll get to experience all the things with Albus that she’s been dreaming off for the past few chapters. That would be some serious lemon action…HINT HINT! Too bad the storm woke her before she got to the best bit.

“I do believe her name is ‘Morag,’” Albus said.

I cannot believe Albus actually used Minerva’s middle name! It’s a thousand wonders she didn’t claw him just a wee bit or at least dig them into his chest when he picked her up. Then again, he’d just had the chat with Philomena about Valerianna so I guess he deserves a slight break. Still, I bet she reminds him of just how much she dislikes her middle name at some point in the future. Haha.

The shower bit…now that was great. I can see Minerva struggling with the images flashing in her head of a naked Albus helping her wash. Wheeeee! And Wilspy…the happy little matchmaking elf. What a cutie. But it was the thought that counts and it did get Albus to open his eyes a bit and pay Minerva a compliment without someone else having to prod it out of him as has happened in the past.

“I hope this does not sound offensive, my dear, but in that dress . . . you should just . . . sit and . . . be beautiful.”

Awww, that was just a perfectly sweet line from the romantic Albus. Too bad Minerva didn’t latch onto that thought and cling to it for dear life.

The trip down the stairs was lovely. I’m glad Minerva tripped and Albus got the chance to catch her. And the placement of those large hands…hmmm, now that was an interesting handful…almost. LOL

Albus is just too cute in this chapter. He’s trying so hard to be the gentleman friend to Minerva but with each word that tumbles from his mouth, he is slowly giving away his heart. Too bad Minerva’s not paying enough attention so she can catch the bits.

Hope you update again soon!!

The GLM

[esoterica1693]

Ooooh, wonderful! How Albus managed to restrain himself either in his sitting room or on the stair is beyond me! I'm sure he was glad to have generously-cut robes on. ;-)

Go, Wilspy!! Wilspy, Minerva's parents, Quin and maybe even Gertie ought to all have a summit and come up w/ some massive plot to get them together!

The fresco reminds me--we haven't met Fawkes in this story yet, have we? I just assumed he'd shown up at some point, he's generally such a fixture in the Albus-verse <g>, but now that I think about it, he's been absent from RaM thus far, no?

Minister Yaxley seemed to be the best Yaxley we've met thus far....

So, Albus has some sort of sadness/regret/shame about his past that he hasn't shared w/ Minerva yet--that cloud across his face when she asked him why he'd never accepted the Minister position.....hmmm.....wanted 'more' as a youth. Considering this isn't DH compliant, it sure seems to come close at times!

[MMADfan]

esoterica1693 said:

Ooooh, wonderful! How Albus managed to restrain himself either in his sitting room or on the stair is beyond me! I'm sure he was glad to have generously-cut robes on. ;-)

Go, Wilspy!! Wilspy, Minerva's parents, Quin and maybe even Gertie ought to all have a summit and come up w/ some massive plot to get them together!

The fresco reminds me--we haven't met Fawkes in this story yet, have we? I just assumed he'd shown up at some point, he's generally such a fixture in the Albus-verse <g>, but now that I think about it, he's been absent from RaM thus far, no?

Minister Yaxley seemed to be the best Yaxley we've met thus far....

So, Albus has some sort of sadness/regret/shame about his past that he hasn't shared w/ Minerva yet--that cloud across his face when she asked him why he'd never accepted the Minister position.....hmmm.....wanted 'more' as a youth. Considering this isn't DH compliant, it sure seems to come close at times!

Fawkes has been in the story, just not a lot. He was mentioned in one of the early chapters before Albus and Minerva had their first dinner, then he appeared in a chapter in which Albus was dressing and he gave Albus a "lift" to his office. He is in the office when Minerva goes to read the advertisement for the CoMC teacher, too. Later, Wilspy mentions cleaning his tray of phoenix droppings.

As for Albus, we have seen this side of him before, in the garden with Minerva when he told her of Dervilia and of the young wizard whose mind he destroyed, and when he had breakfast on the mountain with Minerva, as well as when he spoke to her about the wands. There is more to his history that we still haven't heard, but which he has told Minerva he will tell her. If you read the bit in the McGonagall gardens and then what he says to Minerva in the chapter about the wands, you may be able to glean more. As for the cloud, it was more his fear that she was going to be so like so many other people and ask him that only as a prelude to telling him he should be Minister, as well as there being a little bit more to his explanation, although his explanation to her was entirely truthful. And he really had never wanted to be Minister, although . . . well, we'll get to that later!

And Minister Yaxley was born a Flint. But still, one of the better ones! She's a cousin to Valerianna both through marriage and through the Flint side of the family, and while she calls Francis her nephew, he is actually her grand-nephew. It's all very . . . in-bred!

Speaking of family relations, in case any one wanted to know how Quin was cousin to Carson, Carson is Quin's second cousin once-removed, on the MacAirt side, and first cousin once-removed on the Murphy side!

Albus is generally a pretty well-controlled person, so even if he has some, um, unfortunate physical responses, he normally wouldn't just act on them (not that you implied he would!), and now that he has realized that Minerva can have that effect on him, he is controlling the heck out of himself -- he had to start that back in the sitting room when Minerva appeared in her unusual attire! ;D

[Orion's Guard]

So I missed a few chapters here. I'll go back and try to remember now...

The kiss on the forehead made me tingle (not THAT kind of tingling, more like happy stomach butterflies).

The information into their past was cool, though it took me a while to remember the incident (it was so long ago in the story!)

And this one. Getting her all naked in his bedroom and not finishing it off. Pfft.

I'm done now. Looking foward to more.

[esoterica1693]

I finally got around to Googling _Pnin_. Nabokov, eh? Verrry interesting choice of authors for MM to be reading. ;-) Wonder if she'll continue to explore his oeuvre--I think _Lolita_ was published in '58? I note we don't see what book(s ) Albus is borrowing....poor fellow--if he reads Lolita he'll think back to that day in Edinburgh at the cafe and castigate himself, when he's truly absolutely nothing like Humbert at all.....I shouldn't even mention the two on the same page!

(Mind wanders to Jeremy Irons as Humbert.....or Snape...(cf Comic Relief))