Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[elivania]

Gah!!!! Please tell me that you will be posting more later tonight!

My brain is on meltdown overhere.

*sulks*

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

Gah!!!! Please tell me that you will be posting more later tonight!

My brain is on meltdown overhere.

How very alarming! It sounds painful--I will try my best to post a bit more tonight, but can't promise anything . . . .

elivania said:

*sulks*

Puppy dog eyes generally work better on me . . .

-MMADfan

[Trulyamused]

I want IT. I want IT.

I absolutely love this. The lovely bit with Minerva dressing was so descriptive. Wonderful.

I definitely want more.

Truly

[Apocalypticat]

Oh! Well, when I sat down for a read, I was feeling depressed and cynical. I now feel excited and uplifted by such a wonderful story.

I found the part about Minerva seeing tears in his eyes was particularly powerful, in more ways than one. Quite apart from making me want to give him a hug (), it was a wonderful way of showing the effects of the war. God knows what I would do if MY favourite teacher became teary. It verges on the incomprehensible, and made me sympathise with Minerva tremendously.

I also loved Albus's listing. It seems like a very good idea!

I shall be eagerly awaiting updates.

[MMADfan]

apocalypticat said:

Oh! Well, when I sat down for a read, I was feeling depressed and cynical. I now feel excited and uplifted by such a wonderful story. [. . .]

I shall be eagerly awaiting updates.

Hi, Apocalypticat! I am glad my little story helped dispell your depressed and cynical mood! Thank you for your kind words about it -- and I'm glad you liked the scene in which Albus tears up and Minerva tries to take care of him. It's one of my favorites, as well.

There will be quite a bit posted later today; I wanted to wait until I finished the section about "It" before I post, since people seem to be awaiting it with anticipation, and I didn't want to post the intervening stuff only to disappoint them (Minerva's father did insist on making an appearance, and I just couldn't say no ).

-MMADfan

[MMADfan]

trulyamused said:

I want IT. I want IT.

[. . . .]

I definitely want more.

Truly

"It" will be coming soon, I promise! The characters are all calling me to keep telling their stories, so it would be hard to just abandon it.

I'm glad you liked the part with Minerva dressing. I could see it in my mind's eye, but wasn't sure how it worked in the narrative.

-MMADfan

[Gemmie Lou]

another great installement xxxx

[MMADfan]

Okay, I have a LOT written and ready to post tonight. Because of it's length, it will be broken into several parts. Those of you who have been waiting for It to make Its appearance will be happy, if you are able, and patient enough, to wait for the last post of the night.

Happy Reading!

Part XIII: Minerva’s Special Project

Minerva had passed her OWLs with flying colours, of course, achieving an “Outstanding” in Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense, Herbology and, of course, Transfiguration, and an “Exceeds Expectations” in Arithmancy, Astronomy, History of Magic, and Potions, as well as a rather disappointing “Acceptable” in Divination, which, once she got over being miffed about it, didn’t bother Minerva, as, in her words, she didn’t want “to waste time with such rubbish” during her NEWTs years, anyway. Although her exam results would not be available until mid-summer, Professor Dumbledore had met with her at the end of the year to discuss her NEWT-level courses. It happened that he also had a special project that he hoped she would take on, as well.

After discussing which subjects Minerva would continue with in her sixth year, and deciding that, if her OWL results were as expected, she would take Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Charms, Defense, and Transfiguration, and possibly Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Potions, Dumbledore made his suggestion.

“An animagus? You think that I could become an animagus?” Minerva didn’t know whether to be excited, flattered, doubtful, or possibly even frightened –everyone had heard stories of witches and wizards who tried to turn themselves into an animal, and only ended up in St. Mungo’s, sometimes for a very long stay. Studying the rudimentary theory of animagus transformation in class had intrigued her, but Professor Dumbledore had steered her toward other special projects when she had suggested that she’d like to read more about animagi.

“I certainly believe that it is worth working on. You have an innate sense for transfiguration, Minerva; you also have an excellent grasp of theory, as well as the practical skills and diligence required. Few possess all of these qualities in sufficient measure to actually achieve an animagus form. They may grasp the theory, but have no intuition, no feeling for transfiguration. Or they may possess the innate sense and theoretical basis, but lack the skills necessary. But even all of that is insufficient without diligence, care, motivation, and hard work. I believe you possess all the requisites to become an animagus. But only if you wish to,” Albus added. “It is a great deal of work, and will require time and energy from you that you could spend on other pursuits. I leave it up to you.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore!” During his speech, Minerva’s fears and doubts disappeared, leaving only excitement, and pride that Professor Dumbledore believed in her.

Albus beamed at her. “Wonderful! I have some books for you to read over the summer, and a few exercises for you to do –they do not require a wand, so they are perfectly acceptable to practice. I do want you to promise only to do the exercises that I prescribe, and none others that you may read of. If you truly wish to try a different technique, please owl me, and do not attempt anything before you hear back from me. I may be gone for a good bit of the summer, but I promise that if you have a question, I will respond as soon as I am practically able. I do not want to find it necessary to visit you in St. Mungo’s!”

“Of course, sir! And I will try not to bother you during the holiday–I know it will not be very much of a holiday for you.”

“You would not be a bother, Minerva, and it would be nice to have a friendly letter waiting for me on return from my trips. Besides, I will actually be at Hogwarts for a few weeks at the end of July and the beginning of August, and although I will be occupied with school business during that time, I would welcome correspondence from you.”

“All right, sir! Do you have any recommendations for what I should read first?”

“Fundamentals of Animal Transfiguration would be the one to begin with, although I know you’ve read it already, probably more than once. But now you will read it with an eye toward becoming an animagus. You may also read Taming the Mind, Finding the Beast, but bear in mind that it is non-standard, and Virgil Vortmun was rather an eccentric. I do not suggest that you try his methods! This book, however,” Albus said, pulling one from the pile that he had taken from the shelf behind him, “This book you will likely wish to read and re-read throughout your project.”

Albus handed her The Emergent Creature: Focusing the Human Mind to Evoke the Latent Animal Within.

Minerva glanced at the cover, then flipped to the front of the book. She giggled, then put her hand over her mouth.

“Something amusing, Miss McGonagall?” asked Albus.

“Um, sir, would you happen to be acquainted with the author?” Minerva asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, we are acquaintances of a sort. Although that is not why I believe you will find the book valuable.” Albus grinned. “Why do you ask?”

“Hmm, the name is just a bit familiar, that’s all, sir. ‘Apiarus B. White,’ sir?”

“Yes, well, I suppose it is a bit transparent, but at the time I thought it clever. I was young.” Albus said with a shrug and a smile.

Minerva smiled and replaced it on the stack. There were about a half dozen books there, and Minerva was itching to read them.

“And the exercises you want me to practice? Are they in these books?”

“There are variations on them in Emergent Creature and Occlumancy: From Clearing to Clouding, but I want you to do the specific exercises that I have written out for you.”

As Albus reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a sheaf of parchments, Minerva was struck by something he’d said. “Occlumancy, sir? I thought I was learning to be an animagus.”

“The preparatory work to becoming an animagus shares similarities with some of that required to become a true Occlumens, which goes beyond merely closing one’s mind,” Albus replied. “I think you will understand better how they are related after you have studied the other books.”

“I can hardly wait to begin, Professor!”

“I have one other project that I want to discuss with you. I wish to make clear that your animagus training will not hinge on whether or not you agree to the second project, although I could only present the second one after you had agreed to the first.”

“You are confusing me, Professor. What do you mean?”

“I will not go into details right now; they can wait. I hope that the little I have said does not torment your curiousity too badly, Minerva. I only raise this issue now in order to emphasise the potential importance of the studying you will do this summer. One cannot force the animagus process –not without ending up in St. Mungo’s– however, one can speed it up. By diligently reading and practicing the exercises, you can create the proper conditions for achieving your animagus transformation in as short a time as possible. Please be assured, my dear, that I will not ask you to do anything that will bring you into danger. I do not want you to try to transform too soon and cause yourself any injury. Do you understand?”

“I think so; at least, as much as I can without your telling me more about this secret project. Why not tell me now, Professor?”

“Two reasons. The first is that, although I do want you to study diligently, I do not want you to feel any overblown sense of urgency about it. Truly, Minerva, although the project I would like your help with is somewhat pressing, it has waited a long time to be addressed, and it can wait some time longer. The second is that I promised Headmaster Dippet that I would not reveal the nature of the second project to you until it became clearer that you are likely to achieve an animagus form.”

“Headmaster Dippet? What has he to do with this?” Minerva felt slightly rude as she asked the question, but Professor Dumbledore had always spoken openly with her and encouraged her to ask questions.

“Ah, in a way, although it is my project, it is also Headmaster Dippet’s, although it is unlikely that he will be involved in it. Therefore, I discussed it with him before presenting it to you. I also think that it is wise since, although I have every faith that you are capable of becoming an animagus, in the event that it takes a longer time than we hope, or you do not achieve it, I do not wish you to feel burdened by the prospect of abandoning the other project. If you are diligent, we should have a better indication of your animagus ability by the end of the summer.”

“How long do you think it will take, Professor?” Minerva asked, already feeling pressure, despite not knowing what the not-urgent-but-pressing second project was.

“I do not know. Most who are successful take two or three years to accomplish the complete animagus transformation, if they have a competent teacher. Without one, it is unlikely to be achieved in under three or four years, if at all.”

“Three years!” exclaimed Minerva. She was sure that she had read something of the sort before, but hearing it now, in this context, seemed daunting.

“Hmm, do you not believe me to be a competent teacher, Miss McGonagall?” Albus asked with an impish grin.

“Oh, no, sir, not at all! You are better than competent!” It may have sounded like weak praise, but Minerva blushed internally at the thought of telling him that he was the best teacher anyone could ever have. She would sound like a three-year old, she thought.

Albus laughed loudly at Minerva’s declaration, and she smiled. “Well, my dear, since I am a better-than-competent teacher, and you are a better-than-competent student, we just may accomplish it in a better-than-competent time. Let’s see if we can –no rushing! Just diligence!”

Minerva dutifully studied her animagus-project texts over the summer, and practiced her exercises every morning and evening, and a few in-between times, as well. When her OWL scores came, she ran her finger along them, making sure she had done well enough to take the courses she’d decided on, scoffed at the foolishness of Divination, wondered if she really needed to take Potions, just because everyone in her family had, and then left the parchment on her mother’s desk for her to see later and retreated to her bedroom to study.

[MMADfan]

Part XIV: A Father Worried

Her family wondered that she now spent her time studying in her bedroom, rather than in the library, as had been her habit. She remained ensconced in her room except when she would go outdoors and sit with her back to an old oak tree, eyes closed. She also took more walks than usual, and when asked why, she just mumbled something about appreciating Nature and took a large mouthful of potatoes so that she wouldn’t have to discuss it. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell her family what she was doing until she was sure she’d be able to transform. She felt that talking about it would somehow dilute the energy she was putting into it. They also wondered at the number of owls she sent off, and how she would jump when the post came, quickly snatching away any letter for her before anyone else could see it.

Morgan’s opinion, when he came for a visit in late July, was that “the girl’s suffering from unrequited love.” Malcolm’s thought was that she was just growing up, finally. Murdoch expressed the belief that she was just being Minerva, only more so, and she’d found some particular subject that interested her. Her mother was afraid that she had come under some bad influence, and was reading Dark Magic texts and corresponding with someone unsavory; her father had dismissed that notion as being as unlikely as Morgan’s. Nonetheless, one day when Minerva was out strolling along the high cliffs near her parents’ home, Merwyn took a look at the books piled on the desk her bedroom. Flipping through them quickly, he saw that most were transfiguration texts dealing with animagus transformation. For Merwyn, this was almost as alarming as if he had found Dark Magic texts littering her room. He was uneasy about invading his teenage daughter’s privacy and looking for her correspondence, but that might be the next step he would have to take.

When Minerva returned from her walk, all aglow from the brisk wind that blew in off the sea, Merwyn asked her to join him in his study for a moment. When they had each taken a seat, Merwyn asked her if she had enjoyed her walk. After she had replied in the affirmative, he asked her what she did on these walks of hers.

“I just enjoy Nature, dad, that’s all.”

“Just enjoying Nature, communing, one could say?” asked Merwyn.

“I suppose.”

“And you aren’t doing anything else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother’s been concerned you’ve taken up with some Dark Wizard who’s leading you astray and having you read Dark texts and meet him out on the cliffs.”

Minerva’s mouth fell open. “What?” She began to laugh, and laughed until tears streamed down her face. She finally caught her breath, and said to her smiling father, “That’s one of the most ludicrous suggestions I’ve heard in my entire life, dad!”

“Well, at first she only thought that you were reading Dark texts, but then after hearing Morgan proclaim you no doubt had some unrequited love interest, she came up with that new idea.”

“I hope you told her how silly she was being!”

“Yes, but I had to promise to look at the books you are reading, Min.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t, dad. It’s a special project.”

“I see. And would your walks have anything to do with this special project?”

“In a way. They . . . are calming.”

“Min, I’m sorry, but I looked at the books on your desk.” Attempting to forestall Minerva’s outrage, he added, “I only glanced at the ones on your desk; I didn’t look in any drawers, or under your pillow, or anything like that.”

“I can’t BELIEVE you would do that! You COULD have ASKED! I wasn’t hiding them because I didn’t think you’d sneak in and look at them – and it’s not as though they are some kind of Dark texts that I should be ashamed of reading!” Minerva ranted for several more breaths.

When it appeared she had finished, or at least tired herself out for the moment, Merwyn got to the point. “Min, I haven’t said anything to your mother, but I am worried. I need you to tell me that you are not trying to become an animagus.”

Minerva just stared stonily at him, furious.

“Oh, God, Min, do you know what happens to witches and wizards who try to become animagi without proper training? We could take you down to St. Mungo’s and show you some examples, I’m sure.”

“Who said I wasn’t having proper training? You all just jumped to conclusions, didn’t you? You, mother, Morgan, who else? Did Malcolm and Murdoch come to such equally outrageous and inaccurate conclusions?”

“No, Min. In fact, Malcolm said you’ve grown up, and Murdoch said you were just being yourself.”

“Hmmpf, at least some people in this family don’t think I’m a lunatic,” Minerva huffed. “Dad, did you really think that I’m so stupid or ignorant or irresponsible that I would just wander out onto the cliffs alone and try to transform into an animagus?”

“No; I had hoped not, anyway. I just didn’t know. You are usually bubbling over with excitement when you have a new project, and you never said anything about this one.”

“All right, dad, let me tell you what I’m doing, and then just drop it, okay?” After a nod from her father, Minerva continued, “Professor Dumbledore believes that I have the capacity and the diligence to become an animagus. He gave me those books to read over the summer, with instructions on what to read first, and he also gave me some special exercises to perform. He was adamant that I not do any exercise I find anywhere else, even in the books he gave me, without consulting him first. He was quite clear that my safety was important to him, and gave me the whole ‘St. Mungo’s lecture,’ too, but it sounded quite a bit friendlier coming from him than it just did coming from you. He’s going to evaluate me in the fall when I get back to school to see what progress I’ve made and decide what to do next. I can’t believe you all thought that my letters from Professor Dumbledore were from a mysterious Dark wizard or some kind of unrequited love interest.” Minerva rolled her eyes.

Merwyn still looked uneasy. “I am content that you are receiving instruction, Min, and I believe you when you say that nothing you have done this summer has been dangerous. I also don’t doubt that Professor Dumbledore is concerned for your safety.”

“But?” Minerva asked, knowing her father had some kind of reservation.

“But it is still very dangerous; it is not an ordinary part of the curriculum, and with good reason. I am somewhat alarmed that he would consider guiding you in this project without obtaining our permission first.”

“First, dad, I have had special projects with Professor Dumbledore since my second year. You know about most of them, since I wrote rather voluminous letters home, most of which were about my projects. You never complained before that he hadn’t sought your permission.”

Her father interrupted, “Those were different, Min. Those were still within, well, not the standard curriculum, but they were logical extensions. I was grateful you had someone like him to guide you, since I was sure that you would have been off experimenting on your own, otherwise, with who-knows-what results! Animagus transformation, on the other hand, is very risky, and is usually not attempted until a witch or wizard begins an apprenticeship in Transfiguration–and their Masters usually make them wait a year and a day to begin studying for it. I care about you, Min, and don’t want you trying to jump into something you aren’t ready for. I simply find it all very puzzling and a bit worrying that Professor Dumbledore would undertake something of this kind with you. You’re only going into your sixth year.”

“You really don’t understand. Professor Dumbledore would not do this with me if he did not think that I am prepared. He told me that. He said I should not feel any pressure about achieving the transformation by any particular time. And for your information, dad, that year-and-a-day is as much for the Master as it is for the Apprentice, because there is greater assurance of success if there is a bond between the two before they undertake the animagus training. Professor Dumbledore has been my teacher for four years. He is very responsible, and an excellent teacher. And he cares about me, so don’t try to imply that because you’re my father, and you care about me, that that means he doesn’t. Besides, are you forgetting that I’ll be of age in October?”

“I do forget sometimes that you aren’t my little Minnie-girl anymore.” Merwyn sighed, removed his glasses, and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I’m going to tell your mother that it’s just a particularly entrancing Transfiguration project, and leave it at that.” Minerva breathed a sigh of relief. “However,” Merwyn said, and Minerva’s heart sunk, fearing her father was about to forbid her from studying, “however, I do want to talk to Professor Dumbledore, and perhaps get his recommendation of a book I can read so I can understand it all better. I don’t want to hold you back, Minerva. When I read your letters about some of the extra credit work you are doing in Transfiguration and Charms, I am frankly amazed. Some of that isn’t even covered in NEWTs, you know. It never would have surprised me if you had come to me a few years from now and told me you were training to be an animagus, and I suppose it should come as no surprise now. Nonetheless, I look at you, and I still see my little Minnie-girl.”

“Oh, well, that sounds okay with me. In his last letter, Professor Dumbledore said he’d be at the castle until sometime during the second week of August, then he’d have to leave until term starts, so if you want to owl him, you should do it soon.”

[MMADfan]

Part XV: A Father Reassured

So it was that Merwyn McGonagall found himself at the Three Broomsticks, sitting across a table from Albus Dumbledore. Everyone knew who Albus Dumbledore was, if only because he discovered the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and everyone knew someone who knew him personally. Merwyn, however, had never met him before that day.

“I must apologize for meeting you in such a public venue, Mr. McGonagall, or do you prefer Magister?” Albus asked.

“That always makes me feel as though I’m at least two hundred years old, so ‘Mister’ will do just fine, although I prefer 'Merwyn'.”

“Very well, Merwyn, and you know that I am ‘Albus.’ Still, I apologise that I couldn’t meet you up at the castle, but we are doing some general ward maintenance, and a visitor would cause us to have to retune the perimeter wards again. Shall I, however, with your permission, cast a light privacy charm around our table?”

“Does my daughter’s extra credit project really require such a measure?” asked Merwyn, bemused.

Apparently having taken Merwyn’s question for consent, Dumbledore flicked his wand discreetly, and Merwyn felt a tingle of magic wash past him.

“I do like to maintain the privacy of our students’ academic records and pursuits, particularly when they are somewhat unusual, as they are in this case. I understand from your letter that you are concerned, and curious, about the training that Miss McGonagall is about to undergo. I have brought you two books. One is an autobiography by Felix Fletcher, an animagus who died a few years ago at the age of 168. He wrote the autobiography when he was a mere youth of 110, but that does not concern us, as you will find chapters eight through ten recount his animagus training. He does mention his animagus abilities in other chapters, but those three are the essential ones. I do ask that you not share this book with Miss McGonagall, as it may colour her expectations for her own training. The second book is representative of the texts that she has been studying.” Albus handed him the two books.

Merwyn flipped quickly through the first one, glancing at the first pages of chapter eight, then put it down and picked up the second. He looked at the spine, then the front cover, then turned to the title page.

“Hmm, no picture. Fellow must be an ugly bugger.” Merwyn looked up and grinned at Albus. “He’s hopefully improved with age. So, what’s the ‘B’ stand for? Brian, if I remember correctly?”

Albus laughed, delighted. “My word, Minerva certainly came by her perspicacity and sense of humour honestly!”

“So, you’ve gotten to know my daughter’s sense of humour, have you? She keeps that well-hidden if she doesn’t trust you. You must be doing something right.”

“I believe that the first time I really saw her sense of humour in evidence was one night my first year here, when I brought her to my office supposedly to scold her for a serious infraction of the school rules.” Albus proceeded to tell Merwyn the story of Minerva’s transfigured textbook.

“Oh, my,” laughed Merwyn, “that does sound like Min at that age. ‘Stubborn’ wasn’t the word for it. Even ‘obstinate’ seemed too mild at times. And those books –we’d have to tear them away from her, and this in a family that thinks that a book belongs at the breakfast table! She seems to have grown into being more ‘determined’ than simply stubborn over the last few years,” Merwyn mused.

Merwyn and Albus continued chatting about Minerva, then moved on to the subject of ancient curses, and were in animated conversation over their tea –both had agreed that it was too early for a drink– when a somewhat irritated Minerva made an appearance.

“Da-ad! You said you’d come get me when I could join you. I’ve been in every shop in Hogsmeade, twice! I was beginning to think I’d have to go find lunch on my own. And then I come in to see you two laughing away behind this, this, whatever this ward is,” she said, frowning, obviously wanting to figure out what the unfamiliar charm was, “and you’re talking about potatoes and leeks! Are you both mad?!”

The two men looked at one another, then looked away, then looked back, and began laughing again.

“So, that’s what your little privacy screen, does, eh, Albus?”

“Yes, well, I find that when people think you’re having extended discussions about vegetables, they don’t pay much attention to anything else you say.” The two wizards laughed again.

Minerva shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I think mother’s right: men never really do grow up.”

“My apologies, Miss McGonagall,” Albus said, standing and pulling out a chair for her. “I was regrettably unaware that you were here, or I would certainly not have detained your father any longer than necessary. And I certainly would not wish to keep you from your lunch!”

“That’s all right, Professor. It’s not your fault. I hope you’re not leaving!”

“No, no, I will take my lunch with you and your father, if I may. I was just fetching the waitress to tell her we will be ordering food.”

“Oh, that’s good, then,” said Minerva, turning to her father as Dumbledore walked toward the bar. “So I take it you don’t think he’s a Dark Wizard about to lead me astray into some Peculiar and Perilous Transfigurative Art?”

Merwyn grinned. “No, but I’m still making up my mind about the unrequited love angle. If I could only figure out which side was unrequited,” he teased.

“Dad! That’s awful! You’re embarrassing me!” Indeed, Minerva was turning quite red.

“Everyone probably believes we’re discussing the relative merits of rutabagas and radishes, or some such,” her father replied with a grin. “Yes, Minnie-girl, to answer your unasked question, I do like him. And I see why you trust him, as well, I think. He seems to be a genuinely good man, through and through.”

“He is. So everything’s all right now?”

“Yes, lassie, everything’s all right now. I’m sure accidents happen, but I’m also sure that Professor Dumbledore is equal to any chaos you might cause.” Merwyn winked at her and smiled.

Minerva pretended to be injured. “I’m not Murdoch, you know. I don’t think that my wand’s a rod for stirring potions!”

“Let me see, I remember him mistaking his stirring rod for his wand once, but I don’t think he’s mistaken his wand for a stirring rod yet. Probably because he forgets it on his dresser in the morning!”

They were laughing at the old family joke based on a story that Uncle Perrin had told them the first year Murdoch worked in his apothecary, when Albus returned to the table.

“I do hope you aren’t offended, but I have taken the liberty of ordering our lunch. There are certain dishes at the Broomsticks that are, shall we say, better than others. I hope that there is nothing you will be unable to eat, Merwyn.”

“I have a stomach like an iron cauldron, Egeria always says.”

The three had a delightful lunch, and Merwyn said he would owl Albus with a list of the books he’d mentioned to him, and send any on to Hogwarts with Minerva if Albus was unable to locate copies for himself. Thus, Minerva’s animagus project received her father’s blessing.

[MMADfan]

Part XVI: An Owl and and Invitation

The warm days of August passed quickly for Minerva, and September first was fast approaching when she received an owl from Professor Dumbledore.

“Dear Miss McGonagall,

“I trust that this letter finds you and your family well. Please thank your father for me; the texts he recommended have proved most useful. I was, however, unable to locate one of them, Archaic Syllabaries and the Power of the Veiled Grapheme. If he would be so kind to loan me his copy, should he possess one, I would be quite grateful.

“From your recent letters, I discern that you have made steady progress in your exercises, and am pleased with your evident grasp of animagi-theory. I will be returning to Hogwarts in a few days to prepare for the start of classes, and hope that you will be able to join me there three or four days before the beginning of term so that we may conduct an evaluation and determine what next steps we should pursue. Please share this letter with your father and ask whether you might return to Hogwarts on the morning of Friday, August 29. I shall be happy to come and retrieve you and your luggage so as to minimise any inconvenience to your or your family. It has been, however, quite some time since I have visited the McGonagall residence, and I would appreciate it if your father were to kindly supplement my memory and forward apparition co-ordinates to me. It would be most embarrassing to arrive splinched!

“With hopes of seeing you soon,
“I remain
“Sincerely yours,

“Albus Dumbledore”

Minerva’s father agreed quite readily to both of the Transfiguration Professor’s requests, taking Archaic Syllabaries from his shelf and wrapping it carefully in a soft cloth. From what he had gathered, Dumbledore had been researching ancient curses and malevolent wards in an effort to locate Grindelwald and break down his magical shields. Neither wizard, of course, had explicitly discussed Albus’s work for the Ministry, nor mentioned Grindelwald by name; but everyone knew that Albus had been enlisted to help find and destroy the tyrannical wizard. When he had spoken of his most recent researches into ancient language systems and warding methods, and their modern application, Merwyn had put two-and-two together, and mentioned several little-known texts that might be useful in Dumbledore’s research. He was pleased to learn that there were a few that were unfamiliar to the learned professor, and so had offered him the use of his own copies, should he need them.

Merwyn was also not averse to Minerva’s early return to Hogwarts, knowing how much her own research meant to her. Although he was quite adept at charms himself, his interest had always lain more in the theoretical underpinnings of uttered spells, rather than in their practical application. His wife, on the other hand, didn’t care whether anyone knew why a spell worked, as long as it was useful and positive. In Minerva, he could see aspects of both himself and his wife.

As Minerva packed her trunk, her father joined her in her bedroom.

“Not having Fwisky help, I see.”

“No; she always wants to shrink everything, and I still can’t reverse the charm on my own.” Minerva sighed with exasperation at the Restrictions on Underage Sorcery.

“You’ll be at Hogwarts, though, you should be able to use your wand when you get there. And if not, you could ask Professor Dumbledore – .”

“I am not having any of my professors see my underclothes!” cried Minerva. “And I would feel uncomfortable asking for permission to use my wand; it’s enough of an inconvenience for them to have me arrive days early, I’m sure, without having me requesting special privileges.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that you have Professor Dumbledore unpack your ‘unmentionables,’” teased Merwyn. “I was thinking more along the lines of him sending a Hogwarts house-elf to assist you. And, Min, from what I remember of Hogwarts, you will need your wand to light your candles, unless you want to ask for matches, like a first year.”

“Your memory is outdated, dad. The first year rooms all have automagical candles. You don’t need a wand –or matches– to light them.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose you could borrow one of those, then. But I still think you should shrink your things. Your trunk is full, and you’re stuffing a second carpet bag. Think of Professor Dumbledore, Min –he’s already doing you a favour by fetching you himself. Do you want to break the poor old fellow’s back, or, worse, have him splinch trying to apparate all that?”

“For your information, dad, Professor Dumbledore could apparate with all the contents of this house and never splinch!” Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. “And I’m sure he knows a good feather-light charm or two.”

“I’m just taking the mickey, lass, don’t be so serious!”

“Hmmpf,” grunted Minerva, thinking about what her father had said about apparating. “Say, dad? I was wondering something. Professor Dumbledore said something in his letter about not having been here in a long time, but I don’t remember him ever visiting. What did he mean?”

“Ah, yes. He was friends with my father, as I understand it. Of course, I was too young to remember if he ever visited after I was born.” Merwyn’s father had died in an accident when he was two years old. His mother had always seemed equally as disturbed that he had died “like a muggle” when he had fallen from a cliff near the house as she was by his actual demise. The fall hadn’t even been what killed him; one of the large rocks that had followed in his wake had struck him in the head with such force that even a wizard could not have withstood it under those circumstances. “He was friends with your mother’s Uncle Perseus, as well, I believe, although I don’t know if they have stayed in contact over the years.”

Minerva had always known her professor was old, but somehow she had never realised quite how old. He was practically ancient! What was the Ministry thinking, sending him off to find Grindelwald? Then she smiled to herself, and shook her head. Compared to Great-great aunt Matilda, he was a mere youth. Besides, he had more energy than most of her other professors; Slughorn came readily to mind.

[MMADfan]

Part XVII: A Smooth Apparater

Albus arrived punctually the next morning at eight-thirty to find Minerva and her parents waiting for him. At the crack of his apparition, Minerva stood from her seat on the trunk.

“Ah, all ready to go, I see, Miss McGonagall! And you must be Madam McGonagall! Albus Dumbledore at your service,” he said as he bent over Egeria’s outstretched hand and lightly brushed his lips against her knuckles in approved Continental fashion. “Miss McGonagall.” Albus reached for Minerva’s hand, and repeated the gesture. Minerva blushed. No one had ever seriously kissed her hand in greeting before. Murdoch did so sometimes in jest, planting a sloppy wet kiss on the back of her hand. Not that it was an uncommon gesture, but everyone always saw her as Egeria and Merwyn’s little girl, not as a lady worthy of such a greeting.

Albus had quickly turned and shaken hands with Merwyn. “Merwyn! You look well. It is good to see you again.”

“Good morning, Albus. I have given the book you requested to Minerva. It’s packed in her blue carpet bag. I tell you that because it’s rather old, and I don’t know how well it would withstand a shrinking charm, though I do recommend both shrinking and lightening charms for the rest of her baggage,” Merwyn suggested.

Minerva rolled her eyes at her father, hoping he wouldn’t go into the whole wand-use issue. Fortunately, he didn’t. Albus simply shrunk the trunk and her dark brown carpet bag with a wave of his hand, cast lightening charms on them, then picked them up and put them in his one of his pockets. He cast another wandless lightening charm on the blue carpet bag and hefted it in his left hand.

“Yes, that will do nicely, I think,” he said. “So, Miss McGonagall, are you accompanying your luggage today, or will you follow on tomorrow?” he asked with a twinkle.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Minerva stepped a bit closer to her professor.

“Now how are you with side-along apparition, my dear? Any nausea or dizziness?”

“Um, it depends, sir. I never have trouble with my dad or Murdoch, but, well . . . .” Minerva had avoided thinking about the embarrassing prospect of vomiting all over her professor’s robes, although she had taken the precaution of having only ginger tea and dry toast that morning.

Egeria chimed in. “You might want to take a step back when you arrive, Professor. The last time we apparated together, I had to use a strong scourgify on my shoes.”

Minerva blushed at her mother’s words. Why did parents have to be sooo embarrassing! Professor Dumbledore had greeted her as though she were a full-grown witch, and her mother had just ruined it.

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” He turned to Merwyn, held up his wand, and said, “With your permission, sir?” Merwyn hesitated only a moment before nodding. Dumbledore was known to be a quirky old coot, but he wasn’t dangerous – at least, not to him, he thought.

Dumbledore passed his wand over Merwyn’s head and chest. Little blue, gold, and green symbols drifted gently from the wand. Egeria looked on with interest.

“That looks like a variant of the Magical-Reserve Diagnostic, but I don’t recognized the symbols,” she said.

“Yes, indeed, it is similar,” replied Albus, adding no further clarification. He then turned to Minerva, raised an eyebrow in question, and she nodded quickly. He then repeated the procedure with her. “Hmm, yes,” he mumbled, gazing at the symbols, which were completely cryptic to the others, even to Egeria, with her medical training, and to Merwyn with his knowledge of ancient runes. “Yes, I do believe we can compensate for the variance.” His words were as incomprehensible to Minerva as the symbols had been.

Albus picked the blue carpet bag up again and motioned for Minerva to draw closer. “You’ll need to stand a bit nearer than usual, Miss McGonagall, for this to work.”

She hesitated only slightly, thinking of the last time she had side-along apparated with someone other than her father or brother. She really didn’t want to be sick all over Professor Dumbledore’s beautiful silk robes.

“Come now, a bit closer. Mm-hm, that’s right. Now, with your permission, I will place my right arm around your shoulders. Good girl. Now, if you would like to help?” Dumbledore looked down at his protege’s upturned face.

“Yes sir. But I don’t know how to apparate, even if I were of age.”

“No worries. I would like you to do two things. First, you may place your head against my chest and listen for my heartbeat. Second, envision, as clearly as you can, the front gates of Hogwarts, as though you were standing and facing them from the outside. After you have found my pulse and have the gates firmly fixed in your mind, just nod.”

Minerva did not hesitate to follow her professor’s latest instructions. She stepped in closer to him, closed her eyes, and lay her head on his chest. She listened for his heartbeat, and could almost imagine that she could feel the thrum of his magical core behind it. That accomplished, she envisioned the front gates, in detail, the exercises she had been performing over the summer making it easy for her to create a crystal clear picture in her mind. She nodded against his chest. It seemed that as soon as she had nodded, he was speaking to her.

“Well done, Minerva! I hope you have not fallen asleep!” Albus chuckled at her expression when she lifted her head from his chest and saw that they were at the front gates of the castle. He dropped his arm from her shoulders, and she stepped away.

“But I didn’t feel anything but you!” Minerva exclaimed in wonderment. She had never in her life felt such a smooth side-along apparition. “I didn’t even hear a crack!”

Albus chuckled. “Oh, I only make a bit of noise so that people aren’t disconcerted by my silent arrival or departure. I must apologise to your parents next I see them. I ought to have given them some warning before popping off with their daughter.”

“Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind,” Minerva said, reaching to take her carpet bag from the professor. “Dad, of course, will want to know how you do it, and read everything he can find about silent apparition, and mother might be concerned that it’s not healthy, but I’m sure they won’t mind otherwise.”

Albus took his wand from a pocket and waved it at the gates, which opened to them. He would not relinquish Minerva’s bag to her, though, saying, “What sort of gentleman would I be, to make a lady carry her own bags?”

Minerva giggled a bit, but then expressed her concern about what other people might think of her if they saw.

“Minerva, you would do well not to be overly concerned with the opinions of others. Although if we are considering them, I do believe that if you were to carry your own bag, they would think, ‘ah, poor Dumbledore, finally admitting he’s old and decrepit, and letting that sweet young lady carry her own bags,’” he teased.

Minerva laughed. She didn’t think she ever laughed as much as she did when she was with Professor Dumbledore, whatever the seriousness of the subject at hand. She was very glad to be back with him at Hogwarts.

“I truly doubt that anyone would think you decrepit, sir. You have more energy than the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, although I suppose that’s not saying much after their performance last year. No, they’re probably looking on, thinking, ‘ah, there’s that snooty McGonagall girl, thinks she so high-and-mighty she even gets her professor to carry her bag for her.’” Minerva smiled when she said this, but there was a slight bitter edge to her words.

“I don’t believe that anyone who knows you could possibly believe that you are snooty or conceited, Minerva. You do not allow many people the privilege of getting to know you, however, and that is to their loss,” Albus replied.

Minerva said nothing, but cast a disbelieving look in her professor’s direction. They were nearing the great front entrance to the castle, though, so she said, “Well, sir, be that as it may, you will need to give me my bags soon, since I will need to bring them to my room. Could you unshrink them first, though?”

They walked into the cool Entrance Hall. “Of course I could, Miss McGonagall, but I was unaware you had left your wand at home. Perhaps we should return and fetch it,” he suggested with a twinkle.

“Of course I have my wand, Professor! I just wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to use it.”

“Yes, those pesky Restrictions. Do not worry about them while you are here, Minerva. They are not in effect on Hogwarts’ grounds. Besides, you are in my care for the next few days; you are my responsibility, and as a Professor at Hogwarts, I am qualified to supervise an underage witch’s or wizard’s wand use regardless of location or time of year.”

Minerva grinned. She didn’t mind being in his care for a few days. Somehow it didn’t seem as demeaning as being in the care of some other person. She pulled her wand from her pocket and, with a quickly uttered spell, restored the trunk and carpet bag that Albus had placed on the floor in front of her. Then she flicked her wand and nonverbally levitated both carpet bags and the trunk.

“Well done, Miss McGonagall! Well done, indeed. You must continue to practice your nonverbal spells this year. Begin, as I have said, with the manipulating charms, as they are the easiest to perform nonverbally. Then we will see what others you may wish to master.”

[MMADfan]

Part XVIII: Return to Gryffindor Tower

Her professor’s words warm in her heart, Minerva began up the stairs, her luggage bobbing along after her. Albus walked with her to the first floor, then bade her a good-morning, asking that she come find him in his office when she had settled. Minerva was just about to run up the second flight of stairs when she turned to him.

“Oh, Professor, the password to the dormitory, what is it?”

“Spero et expecto, my dear. Just until the first of September, of course.”

Minerva smiled and fairly sprinted up the next few flights of stairs, which were co-operating with her for a change, and swinging into place before she reached them. By the time she’d reached the fifth floor, however, she was somewhat winded, despite her long, vigourous walks along the cliffs that summer, and she slowed to a more leisurely pace. As she continued her walk up to Gryffindor tower, she considered her morning thus far, and shook her head in amazement. She would never cease to be in awe of Dumbledore’s magical prowess, she thought. While she was aware that, in theory, silent apparition was possible, she had never heard of anyone who could actually do it. On top of that, he had apparated her so smoothly that she hadn’t even noticed their arrival. It was as though she had been enveloped in a cocoon of warm Dumbledore-ness, was the only way she could think to describe it.

Of course, she wouldn’t be describing it for anyone. If her parents asked, she would simply tell them that she hadn’t gotten sick or dizzy. She blushed thinking of the way she had leaned her head against his chest. Minerva was somewhat reserved with her expressions of physical affection. She thought she took after her mother that way. Not that she didn’t hug her mother or father, of course, and Murdoch had been carrying her about and playing with her since she was a baby, so it felt quite natural to run into his arms whenever she saw him. And there was little Melina. Who could resist hugging and cuddling such a sweet, pink-cheeked child? But Minerva was used to the stiff, half-embraces of her aunts and uncles, or the quick, one-armed squeezes that Malcolm and Morgan would give her occasionally. She always almost had to force herself to hug her friends good-bye at the end of the year, knowing it was expected of her, and that they would be hurt if she didn’t. Yes, overall, Minerva was what she considered “selective” about whom she embraced, and under what circumstances.

She reached Gryffindor Tower and smiled happily at the Fat Lady, who was fanning herself with a bored expression on her face.

“There you are, finally. Professor Dumbledore said to be expecting you. I do hope you won’t be expecting my services at all hours. There are only a few days left before the students return, and I do like to get in as much visiting as possible before that.”

“I shall try not to be a bother, ma’am,” replied Minerva politely. She felt it more than slightly ridiculous to have to be polite to a bit of enchanted oil and canvas, but she had seen the consequences suffered by other students who had insulted the Tower portrait.

“Password?” prompted the portrait.

“Spero et expecto,” Minerva responded.

After making the final climb up to the dormitory room she normally shared with four other girls, Minerva began unpacking her bags, setting aside the carefully wrapped book for Professor Dumbledore. She thought again of their brief trip, and blushed. She wasn’t sure what she was blushing about. It hadn’t really been an embrace, after all. Professor Dumbledore had put his arm around her and she had leaned against him simply so that he could ease the apparition for her. She hadn’t even hesitated at the time, or looked at her mother or father. She felt her face grow even warmer at the thought of her parents looking on as she had put her head on his chest, closed her eyes, and listened for his heartbeat.

Minerva began to shove her clothes into the wardrobe with a little more energy than strictly necessary. She would have to learn some good packing and unpacking charms, she thought. Her mother and father rarely used any, since Fwisky or one of the other house elves usually took care of it for them.

She moved her trunk to the foot of her bed, shrunk the carpet bags and placed them in the bottom, then, with a quick wave of her wand, levitated her books to the shelves beside her wardrobe. She would worry about putting them in order after her meeting with Professor Dumbledore, she thought. Her stomach growled, and she wondered about meals, and whether she would have to eat alone in the Gryffindor common room, or something. That thought was unsettling.

Making a quick trip to the bathroom to use the loo and run a brush through her hair before returning it to its ponytail, she considered whether she should wear her school robes. She decided against it, and, examining the pale blue robes she had put on that morning, thought that what she was wearing would be fine. She hadn’t seen anyone else in the castle yet, and who knew when she would see anyone other than her professor. She did want to appear presentable for him, however.

Minerva fairly flew down the stairs, worried that she had taken too much time unpacking. When she arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, the door was open. As she walked in, she could hear Professor Dumbledore speaking with someone else, Headmaster Dippet, from the sound of it.

“ . . . Armando, very pleased, indeed. You will see.”

“I hope so, Albus. This is a sticky problem, and I trust you to resolve it to the best of your ability, of course. I still don’t quite understand the . . . .”

Dumbledore interrupted the headmaster. “Miss McGonagall, please, come in. We have been awaiting your arrival.”

Minerva took the last few steps toward the office. “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything important, sir. I can come back.”

“No, no, not at all. We were just discussing your project. Headmaster Dippet, I am sure you are acquainted with Miss Minerva McGonagall.”

“Yes, yes, indeed,” said the headmaster warmly, although accompanying it with a rather limp, moist handshake. “We were all most pleased with your OWLs results. Most pleased.” Headmaster Dippet looked Minerva up and down. Minerva wondered whether she should have changed into school robes, after all. “He tells me that you are to be trusted. That you are, –how did you put it, Albus?– the soul of discretion. I do hope we can rely upon that discretion, Miss McGonagall.”

“Er, yes, sir, I shall always do my best,” she replied, somewhat confused about the role her discretion was to play in her animagus training. “I won’t let you and Professor Dumbledore down, sir.”

Headmaster Dippet smiled and patted her shoulder. “Yes, I believe you.” He turned to Dumbledore. “Well, Albus, I shall leave you to it. I am placing the entire matter in your hands. You may deal with it as you see fit, as always.” Smiling avuncularly at them both, he took his leave.

After Dippet had gone, Albus waved a hand closing the classroom door. “Well, my dear, let’s go over some of your reading first, then I believe it will be time for lunch. Apparition always works up a good appetite.”

[MMADfan]

Part XIX: A Special Project

Minerva and Albus reviewed her grasp of the reading she had done. She discerned no particular pattern to the questions he asked her, but he seemed pleased with her answers. Unlike other occasions on which they had discussed her reading, Albus did not ask her for her opinions of what she had read, nor did they engage in any speculative discussion. Minerva thought it felt far more like an examination, but she didn’t mind. She was glad to be able to please him.

After an hour or so, Minerva’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“Sounds as though someone is hungry,” said Albus. “Perhaps this is a good point to stop for lunch.”

“I’m sorry, Professor. I can go a bit longer, if you like.”

“No, no need. Wilspy!” he called.

Wilspy popped in immediately. “May Wilspy serve Professor Dumbledore and the Miss?”

“We are ready for lunch, now, Wilspy.”

“Very good, Professor Dumbledore sir.” Wilspy popped back out.

Albus stood, pushing his chair back and stretching. He motioned for Minerva to follow him, and he led her from the office and the classroom, closing the doors behind. Minerva could feel the wards shiver back into place.

“Sir, where are we going? Do we eat in the Great Hall?” Minerva tried to imagine eating in the cavernous room, alone with her professor, he at the high staff table, she down at Gryffindor table.

“No. During the summer, if there are more than a few staff in residence, we do take our meals there, at a single table, but when there are very few, we generally eat lunch and dinner in the staff room. Most of the staff are taking this last day off before term begins, and will return tomorrow. Normally, they are in residence the entire week prior to the start of term, however, Headmaster Dippet decided that a few extra days holiday would be appropriate under the circumstances.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Professor! I’m interrupting your holiday!”

“No, no, my dear,” he said as they began down the stairs to the main floor. “It was my suggestion, in fact. I had a few experiments to do the last few days, which are better performed with as few people in the castle as possible –I shall tell you of them later– and today, well, you shall see,” he said enigmatically.

As they reached the Entrance Hall, Minerva looked toward the Staff Room. Before she turned toward it, however, Wilspy appeared with a small pop, a covered basket almost as large as she hovering above her.

“Wilspy fix lunch for Professor Dumbledore and his Miss like Professor asks Wilspy. Wilspy hopes lunch is good for the Professor and his Miss.”

“Thank you, Wilspy. I am sure we will enjoy it.”

Wilspy popped away without another word from Albus, leaving the basket hovering in front of them.

“Well, Miss McGonagall, I hope you enjoy picnics!”

“A picnic, sir?” As many meals as she had eaten with her professor over the last few years, somehow she had never envisioned picnicking with him. “Um, of course. Picnics are fine.”

With that, the two set off out the doors of the castle and across the grounds. They did not stop by the large oak tree, as she had first anticipated, nor did they head toward the grassy lawn near the lake, where students often brought snacks and tossed bits of sandwich to the Squid. Instead, they turned toward the Forbidden Forest, passed the greenhouses, and then continued on until they were behind the castle, between the lake and the Forest. Minerva could just see a bit of the wall that surrounded the Hogwarts’ grounds, when apparently they reached their intended picnic ground.

“This will do nicely, I believe.” Albus turned to the basket, which had floated genially behind them like a well-trained butler, and, with a wave of his wand, unpacked it all at once. Everything must have been shrunk quite cleverly, thought Minerva, although she saw no evidence that anything was unshrinking as it popped out of the basket. Seeing Minerva’s curious expression, Albus explained, “Spatial charm, my dear. Bigger on the inside than on the outside. Quite handy. I have a carpet bag like this, a gift of an old friend. She would appreciate this picnic basket, I believe.”

When Albus was through, Minerva looked about in astonishment. She had grown up with magic, and seen many things, but she couldn’t imagine that a single wizard could co-ordinate anything like this so quickly and easily. A large blanket was spread out on the ground, and several large pillows rested on two sides. Platters, plates, bowls, and utensils had arrayed themselves neatly upon the blanket, and a large pitcher of cold lemonade had settled down beside two glasses. A bouquet of wild flowers sat in a vase, adorning the very center of the blanket. But most astonishing of all, some kind of flowered settee with a canopy over it appeared a few feet from their picnic spot.

Albus smiled amusedly at Minerva’s reaction. “I see that I shall have to speak to your parents about widening your horizons. You have evidentally not been on a picnic before!”

“Sir!” Minerva restrained herself from rolling her eyes at her favourite professor. “It’s just that it all popped out so fast, and arranged itself. It didn’t look as though you did anything. And that seat!” Minerva shook her head.

“Ah, well, I cannot take all of the credit. The basket, after all, is very large, and Wilspy packed it for us.” Albus gestured toward the picnic blanket. “Please, Miss McGonagall, be my guest. Do not stand on ceremony. Have a seat and help yourself.”

Albus sat down on one side of the blanket, settling himself on one of the large pillows, folding his legs in front of him. Minerva joined him, sitting on the edge of the blanket and leaning on a pillow. They spent several minutes selecting their food and eating, interrupted only by occasional exclamations of, “Did you try this? You must! It’s delicious.” After their initial appetite was satisfied, and their thirst quenched by the fresh lemonade, Minerva asked the question that had been at the back of her mind since Albus had expressed approval for their picnic spot.

“Sir? Why are we having a picnic, and why here?”

“Picnics are enjoyable, don’t you think, Minerva? And it’s good to enjoy the fine weather while we may.”

“But, sir, why this spot?”

“I believe the answer to that question will wait until we have sampled some of Wilspy’s desserts.”

Minerva didn’t really want desert, but picked out a small elderberry pastry and nibbled at it.

Dumbledore sighed, put down the bowl of trifle he had been eating, then stood and stretched. “I see that I have tested your patience sufficiently.” He looked down at his trifle. “Ah, well. I need to watch my waistline, anyway,” he said with mock regret.

Minerva smiled and stood, as well. Albus waved his wand, and everything began returning itself to the basket, with the exception of the lemonade, the blanket, and the settee -which Minerva wasn't sure came from the basket in the first place. Albus picked up his glass of lemonade and strolled over to the flowered seat. As he settled on it, Minerva noticed that it seemed to rock, or swing, with his movement.

“Care to join me?” he asked.

“A swing, sir?”

“A glider, my dear.” Albus demonstrated the gentle back-and-forth motion of the seat.

Minerva sat next to him, somewhat carefully. When she had settled into the seat, Dumbledore waved his wand for several seconds, making a complicated pattern in the air, and leaving trails of red and gold. A rush of magic flowed across her.

“What was that, Professor?”

“Just a bit of warding, my dear. I have decided to tell you about the second project you might care to assist with, if you choose, despite not having completed our evaluation of your progress. The rest of the faculty and staff are returning tomorrow, and it is best that my explanations be made before then, so that you may feel completely free to ask any questions that may occur to you. All right, Minerva?”

“Yes; but I’m very confused, Professor. What Headmaster Dippet said earlier, and what you’re saying now –and that ward you just cast– why all the secrecy? And there was the ward in the Three Broomsticks when you met with my father. And – ”

Albus interrupted. “All will become clear shortly, I hope, Minerva. First, I want you to remember that no matter your decision about the project I’m going to describe to you, your animagus training will proceed apace. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Minerva seriously.

“Good. I also want you to promise me that you will not give me your decision now. I want you to think about it this afternoon. We can talk again after dinner. All right?”

“Of course!”

“Very well. One other thing, Minerva. I do not want you to choose to do this simply out of loyalty to me. If you do choose to help us, then I will rely on that loyalty, as I know I am able to, but please consider everything carefully before you decide.”

“Yes, sir. I will make any decision very carefully.” Minerva felt serious, grown-up, and, truth be told, rather nervous. She wished he would just tell her what the project was.

“All right, then, Minerva. I know that you are discreet and can be trusted, however, I need your explicit promise that you will not repeat any of what I tell you now to anyone but myself or Headmaster Dippet without my express permission, unless there is an extreme, dire, life-threatening emergency and then, only what may be necessary to avert or remedy the immediate crisis.”

Minerva blanched at his words, and swallowed hard. “I will take a wand oath, Professor. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Your promise is sufficient, Minerva. Please do remember the conditions to the promise –you may speak freely with Headmaster Dippet about what I tell you today, and about your project, but if he asks a great many questions about it, I expect you to become suspicious and confirm his identity before continuing. Understood?”

“Yes,” replied Minerva, eyes round. What could he possibly tell her? “Just one question, before you tell me everything, sir. What if Headmaster Dippet isn’t the headmaster anymore, and a new Headmaster or Headmistress questions me?”

“Excellent question, my dear. In the event that there is a new Headmaster, do not speak freely with him –or her– without first having discussed it with me. If I am unavailable, well, I will rely upon your judgment, in that event. So, do I have your solemn promise not to reveal to anyone, other than myself or the Headmaster, the nature and contents of what I am about to disclose to you, without my permission, unless extreme emergency requires it, and then only to such an extent to avert or remedy the crisis?”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore, you have my solemn promise.”

For the next two hours, Albus told Minerva of the school wards, of his on-going work to repair the damage done following the neglect and abuse of previous generations. He patiently explained the nature of the foundational wards surrounding the castle and grounds, the structure of the ward lattice, and the proper methods for adding new wards and disabling or removing old ones. He then told her of the changes made in the 17th and 18th centuries, and the damage that had been done both to the ward lattice and the wards themselves, even the foundational wards being effected. Several times he stopped, summoned more lemonade, drank deeply, then continued. Minerva was silent, absorbing all she could of what Professor Dumbledore told her, only nodding occasionally to indicate her attention.

“Minerva, when I arrived here, I thought to be done with the task in a few years, six or seven at the very most. But I discovered that the situation was more dire than anyone had previously realised. Part of the function of the wards, as I explained to you a little while ago, is to protect the developing magic of the students, keeping them from harming themselves by expending too much magical energy, or, especially for the younger ones, keeping them from performing accidental magic when their emotions ran high.” Minerva was well aware of the accidental magic a young witch could perform; once, when she was eight, she was very angry about not getting her own way about something –she couldn’t even remember what, anymore– and she had exploded her mother’s favorite china tea set so completely there was nothing left but chalky residue on everything within ten feet of it.

“Unfortunately,” continued Albus, “one of the peculiar wards layered on during the 17th century was an ill-advised and ineffective attempt by the Board of Governors to, how shall I put this, keep the students on an even keel, with no emotional outbursts, or highs and lows; another, similar ward, was placed on the castle to try to reduce the, er,” Albus turned faintly pink, “reduce the libidinous urges of the young men in residence.” He cleared his throat, and Minerva tried to appear as though this were no more startling than any of his other explanations. “Apparently, the Headmistress at the time thought these measures as idiotic as we do, and therefore deliberately did not integrate them into the primary warding system, thinking that reasonable times would return, and the wards could be more easily removed if they hadn’t been integrated. The lady’s thnking was only slightly flawed in that regard, although she was correct in that, had it not been for the changes made by Nigellus in 1874, I would have been able to remove those peculiar wards with relative ease, even today.”

Dumbledore paused to drink some more lemonade, casting a chilling charm on it. Minerva spoke for the first time since he began. “It doesn’t seem as though those charms have had any effect, judging by the behaviour of the students. Not that there’s a lot of accidental magic, but I think that’s more because the students developed some self-control prior to coming to Hogwarts. And as for the other, well, it seems as though that would have been a futile attempt to control behaviour. I think I see what you meant about the wards being ineffective, but why were they disastrous?” she asked.

“I was just getting to that, my dear. Although I think that it would have been a bad idea to place those wards even if they had been effective, since the students need to learn to control themselves without the artificial imposition of restraining wards, and who knows what kind of havoc would have been wrecked when the boys left for the summer and were suddenlybeyond the ward’s control . . . but that is neither here nor there, Minerva. The disastrous thing is that the changes that Nigellus made in the re-warding process integrated and mutated those layered wards in such a way that they not only diverted energy from the main, safety-oriented wards, but such that they also drained both magical and emotional energy from whomever coordinated the wards, and, to a lesser degree, from any witch or wizard who was bound to the ward triggers.”

Minerva stared, shocked at what she had just been told. “You mean the Headmaster and the Heads of the Houses, don’t you?” Fear sprang up in her; fear, to be sure, for all whom were effected, but especially for Professor Dumbledore. “Do you mean that whenever you’re here, you’re being drained?” she asked, slight panic rising in her voice.

“Hush, my dear, don’t you worry. You are correct in identifying the Headmaster and the Heads of the Houses as those effected, but I was able to identify and disable that effect early on–before you even returned for your second year, in fact.”

Minerva relaxed back into her seat, the glider rocking gently as she did so. “Oh, well, that’s good, then. They are very lucky you are here.”

“I believe that Headmaster Dippet’s health was seriously imperiled, and no one had identified the source of his decline. They merely thought he was getting older, and the strain of running the school was too great. Once I relieved him of the wards that first summer, he began to improve immediately, even before I disabled the draining effect.”

Minerva processed what he had just told her. “So, are you saying that you control the wards now? I thought you said it had to be the Headmaster.”

“It does not have to be the Headmaster who is the Keeper of the Wards; in fact, there is a mechanism by which the wards are passed to a designated Head of House, whenever the Headmaster leaves the grounds. He can also transfer them deliberately. As far as the wards are concerned, I have been the ‘Headmaster’ since June of ’37. When I leave the grounds, they are passed back to Armando, and when I return, they are passed to me. There have been occasions, of course, when we both have been absent, and I transfer them to the Headmaster so that he can transfer them to another Head of House.”

“Why, sir? Can’t you just pass them directly, since the wards seem to believe you are the Headmaster, or, at least, the acting Headmaster?”

“I could, but unless Armando were already absent, it might raise some questions. You see, my dear, you are the only person, apart from Armando, myself, and Professor Gamp, who is aware that I am the Keeper of the Wards. Although the other three Heads of House are aware that I am repairing the wards, and that is why I was hired here in the first place, they believe that I only control the wards when Armando passes them to me during the ward renewal, or when I am doing experiments or tests on them. They don’t realise that I conduct frequent tests, and often make small adjustments, on an on-going basis. Also, although the original wards are not designed to drain the Keeper’s magical energy, they do function best when there is a magically fit wizard serving as the Keeper.”

“This is all very interesting, Professor, but I do not see what any of it has to do with me, or my animagus project.”

“I’ll get to the point, then, shall I? Although I have made significant progress in realigning the wards, repairing the ward lattice, and retuning each of the individual wards properly, as well as putting into place a few new security measures, such as the anti-apparition wards, there are still several problems that I have not resolved. In fact, I think that I could work on the wards for decades and still not be able to return them to the condition they were in in 1873. Without the assistance of Professor Gamp, I doubt I would have gotten this far.”

“Professor Gamp? That was another thing I was curious about, Professor. She isn’t a Head of House, but you mentioned her as the third person who knows that you are the Keeper of the Wards. Besides me, now, of course.”

“Yes; she knows because she has been assisting me with the arithmantic calculations I’ve used in realigning, or even redesigning, the wards. Her help has considerably reduced the amount of time it has taken me to bring the wards into reasonable shape.”

Minerva bit back her initial reaction, ‘Wasn’t she a Slytherin?’ If Professor Dumbledore believed her to be trustworthy, she must be. And it wasn’t as though she were anything like some of the nasty little Snakes in school with her now. As prefect, she’d had to stop a Slytherin from tormenting some little Hufflepuff or Gryffindor on more than one occasion. Then there was that infuriating Riddle boy, who didn’t seem to discriminate amongst the Houses, but who seemed to like tormenting everyone equally –even boys older than he. She didn’t understand how he had any friends at all –but they were more like little sycophants, she thought scornfully.

“I still don’t understand what I have to do with this, or how I can help you. Professor Gamp is a Mistress of Arithmancy, I’m just a fifth- sixth,” she corrected herself, “year Gryffindor.”

“I have a very particular problem, you see, and if you decide to help me, I may be able to find a solution. The foundational wards included a small but very clever charm designed by Rowena Ravenclaw, who was responsible for the initial design of the castle, that allows the Keeper of the Wards to see who is present in the castle or on the grounds – not literally see them, although I suppose it could be modified to perform such a function– but, for example, to draw on the ward to charm a parchment that would create a list of everyone currently present at Hogwarts. The list could be charmed to change as people came and went, and so forth. If such a charm worked properly, it would greatly enhance the security of the castle. Unfortunately, the ward has been degraded over the last decades, and no charm I have been able to cast will have the intended effect. I have repaired the ward to the point where I can charm a parchment to list the names of everyone in the castle, but only if they are there in their own forms.”

“I think I see. Do you mean that if an animagus were in the castle, he wouldn’t appear on your list?”

“Precisely. In fact, as soon as an animagus transforms, his name disappears from the list. Initially, anyone who had taken Polyjuice –disgusting stuff, Minerva, I don’t recommend it– appeared on the list as the person whom they are Polyjuiced to be, and not as themselves. This indicated to me that the ward was not properly tuned to witches and wizards’ magical signatures. I was able to correct the problem, insofar as the Polyjuiced person now appears as himself, not as the person whose appearance he took, but I have not been able to make the adjustments necessary to detect someone in animagus form. If you achieve the animagus transfiguration, I would like you to assist me in making those adjustments.”

“But why me? You’ve never said, but I assume you are an animagus. And somehow you were able to discover this was a problem with the wards.”

“Because I must conduct tests and experiments on the wards while someone is transfiguring themselves back and forth between their ordinary form and their animagus form; this is something I cannot do –it is not possible to be both a participant in this test and its conductor. As to why you, in particular, Miss McGonagall,” Dumbledore looked at her very seriously, “because I trust you. There are only a few animagi in Britain, or even in Europe, if we were to look further afield. There may be some of whom we are unaware, of course, but of all the animagi of whom I am aware in Europe and in North America, there are only one or two whom I might have trusted with this. One of them is, however, over one hundred and fifty, and tells me that she hasn’t transformed in more than sixty years. The other, a younger man, disappeared two years ago in Austria. He is believed to have been killed, either by Grindelwald because he would not join him, or even possibly by the Nazis, as he was a Gypsy. It can be difficult even for an accomplished witch or wizard to escape the muggles if they have no wand, and also possibly have suffered injuries. Other than those two, you are looking at the only other animagus in Europe who could be trusted with this project. Unfortunately, I cannot be both myself and my animagus form at the same time . . . well, I could be, but it would confuse the wards so much, no tests would be reliable,” Albus added enigmatically.

“All right, Professor. I know that you told me to think about it, and let you know my decision after dinner, but it is almost time for dinner, anyway, and I can assure you that I won’t change my mind. I will – ”

Albus interrupted her. “You will tell me of your decision after dinner, right?” he asked with a smile.

“Right. That’s what I was about to say,” grinned Minerva.

“Well, I suppose we should be going back now; as much as I would like to sit here in a swing with a pretty girl, we do need to consult with Wilspy about dinner.”

Minerva laughed, and blushed a bit, and watched as her professor returned the remaining picnic items to the basket, and vanishing the glider seat. Together, they walked back up to the castle, not speaking, just enjoying the cool breeze blowing in off the lake.

[MMADfan]

Part XX: Dinner and Decisions

“Sir, why do we need to consult Wilspy about dinner? Don’t the house elves just serve it like normal?” Minerva asked as they approached the double oak doors leading to the Entrance Hall.

“If we wish to eat this evening, we must consult Wilspy. All of the other house elves have been confined to the kitchen and other house-elf-appropriate places for the day; in addition, as we are the only residents of the castle until tomorrow morning when Headmaster Dippet will return, and the rest of the staff will begin trickling back from holiday, it seemed foolish to have the house elves serve their normal dinner.”

“You mean we’re the only people at the castle?” Minerva asked incredulously as they entered the cool entry way. “Is that exactly safe?”

“Oh, yes, my dear, quite. We renewed the wards just a few weeks ago, as I mentioned earlier, and now that we have finished our conversation, I can tell Wilspy that the other house elves have the freedom of the castle again.”

“It’s just, just, well, creepy, sir, this huge empty castle, and just the two of us and the Hogwarts house elves.”

Albus stopped midway up the stairs, and turned to Minerva, who had been walking up beside him. “I am sorry, Minerva. I had not thought. I am so used to so many things that I have forgotten, perhaps, what it might be like for you,” he said gently. “If you would like to return to your parents for the night, or even for the rest of the weekend, I would be happy to escort you there after dinner –or sooner, if you are bothered.”

“No, no!” Minerva did not want to have to go home like a little girl who had cried when left with her aunt and uncle for a few hours. “I didn’t mean it like that. I want to stay. Really, sir.”

“Are you sure, my dear?” asked Albus, still not moving from the stair on which he had stopped. “Would you feel more comfortable if Wilspy stayed with us during dinner? She could even spend the night in your room, if you like.”

Minerva suddenly understood Albus’s concern. “Oh, no, that would be even weirder. I don’t mind it if you’re here, Professor. What I mean is, it wouldn’t matter where we were, I’d feel safe if you were with me. Even if we were in the middle of Grindelwald’s camp,” she said.

“Hush, now, don’t even think such things,” responded Albus.

“All I’m saying is that it’s just the castle that bothers me, not being here with you. In fact, if I had to be alone in the castle with a bunch of house elves, I’d rather you be with me than anyone else.” Minerva felt slightly embarrassed at the sentiment she expressed, but she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable being alone with her, either.

Albus started back up the stairs to the Transfiguration classroom. “Well, that’s settled, then. I don’t think I had ever been at Hogwarts when it was this empty until after I’d come here to teach. I stayed over Christmas holidays one year, and there were only three students staying in Gryffindor Tower, but that was practically crowded, compared to our current, though highly temporary, situation.”

“Professor, what about the ghosts? What I mean is, Headmaster Dippet had everyone leave the castle and grounds, and the house elves were confined –although I don’t understand why, since I thought they had to be loyal to their house or family, or whatever– what did you do with the ghosts? And what about the portraits?”

Albus chuckled as he let them into the classroom. “My, I suppose that after hours of listening to me talk, and saying so little, the urge to ask questions has asserted itself again. Well, the ghosts have willingly bound themselves to the wards, with the exception of Peeves –who, it turns out, is one of the unintended by-products of those 17th century wards meant to keep the children in check– and the portrait network is also tied into them. Although you may have noticed a distinct lack of portraits in our picnic area! The elves, although bound to be loyal to Hogwarts, can interpret that loyalty in whatever way they wish. They do have their own internal structure for dealing with miscreants,” Minerva thought of Fwisky when he said this, “but I thought it best to take the added security measure of eliminating the possibility of being overheard by them, or the portraits, who, although a part of the ward structure, are not completely controlled by it. Does that answer all your questions?” he asked with a slight smile.

“Yes, but why is Wilspy free?”

“Do not let her hear you say that she is free, my dear, although she has the freedom of the castle, of course. It is because she is a Dumbledore house elf; she has a deep-seated loyalty to me personally, not just to the school and its ever-changing population. Besides, she packs a lovely picnic basket!”

Minerva smiled broadly at that.

“Well, Minerva, why don’t you avail yourself of the washroom, and I will ask Wilspy about dinner. Do you have anything you’d particularly care for? No?”

Through the closed door of the loo, Minerva could just hear Dumbledore speaking in low tones to Wilspy, presumably releasing the other elves from their confinement –they must have been driven to distraction without being able to “serve”– and ordering dinner. She walked out of the office just as Wilspy apparated away with a gentle crack.

“I have ordered a light supper for us. I hope that suits you. If you are hungry later, or anytime this weekend, call Wilspy, and she will be at your service.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“I also had an idea that I spoke with Wilspy about. If it meets with your approval, she can make the arrangements necessary. As deputy headmaster, and, of course, in my other roles here at Hogwarts, I have somewhat grander quarters than most of the other professors. They include a small guest room with its own loo and a separate entrance to the corridor. If you would feel more comfortable there than in Gryffindor Tower tonight, you are welcome to make use of it. There is no bath, only a somewhat cramped shower, but it is at your disposal,” Albus finished.

“That’s very generous of you, Professor, but I don’t want to disturb you, or have Wilspy go to extra trouble.”

“You know that Wilspy would be glad to serve, as would I. Please stay wherever you feel most comfortable. I would suggest the library, but my recollection is that one’s slumber is never particularly restful there.” Albus grinned at her.

“I really don’t know. I am used to my room in Gryffindor Tower, but, well, I hate to admit it, it sounds so childish, but it feels different when there’s no one else there. Can we eat supper first, before I decide?”

“Of course; and I understand. Why don’t we stop by the guest room on the way to Gryffindor Tower, then you can see it, and decide then.”

Wilspy appeared with their supper at that moment, which consisted of some kind of pickled fish, bread, cheese, tomatoes, a bowl of grapes, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Minerva thought she’d avoid the fish, as it looked rather disgusting, but Albus helped himself to it and ate it with such a relish, that she tried a little and decided it wasn’t too bad, but she wasn’t going to be calling Wilspy for more.

After finishing their meal, Albus walked with her down the first floor corridor, then up one of the small flights of stairs she’d always thought led nowhere, then down another corridor and then a narrower hallway that had large windows along one side, and portraits along the other. Stopping at one, Albus clearly said, “Chocolate Frog,” and the portrait and the door it was guarding swung open.

“Chocolate frog, Professor?”

“Mmm, a new sweet. They have them at Honeydukes. You should try one! Don’t worry, no frogs involved. They just look like them, and have a tendency to try to hop away until you bite their legs off.” With that explanation, he gestured for her to enter.

The room was almost a precise square, which was quite surprising, for any room at Hogwarts. There were two windows along the opposite wall, with a typical Hogwarts four-poster bed between them. There was a small desk along the wall to the right, and a wardrobe across from it. Each of the two side walls featured a door. Albus stepped in behind her and opened the door on the left, showing her a small but efficient bathroom, with toilet, shower, and sink. He went to the opposite door, and informed her that it led to his sitting room, and that his bedroom was beyond that.

He opened that door for her, and she peeked through to see what appeared to be a combination study and sitting room decorated in deep burgundy, moss green, gold, and cream, and furnished with a desk, a few chairs, a couch, a small table, and a fireplace. Along the walls were bookcases; they even stood in front of the windows, blocking out what light was left in the evening sky. There were also stacks of books and parchment everywhere, although they were in neat piles, and it seemed that they had been placed in some kind of order.

“My bedroom is through the door on the other side of that rather crowded room,” Albus said. “It would only be for the one night, but if you suddenly needed me, I would be close at hand. Of course, if you stay in Gryffindor Tower, you can always call Wilspy, and she will come.”

Minerva was torn. On the one hand, she didn’t want to seem a little girl who couldn’t stay one night alone in the dormitory. On the other, she thought she would feel a little more at home in the small bedroom next door to the comfortable, Dumbledorish mess. On the third hand, if she had a third, she was used to the tower room, but on the fourth hand, she felt honoured that he would allow her to stay in his guest room.

“Well, do you mind if I fetch a few things, then? If it’s really all right for me to stay here?”

“Of course, come, we will walk to Gryffindor Tower together; and then you won’t have any trouble finding your way back. After you’re settled in, we can have some tea, and you can tell me your decision.”

Soon, Minerva was sitting comfortably in an armchair in Albus’s study, drinking chamomile tea. “I’ve decided to help you, Professor. And not just because you asked, but because it’s important for the future safety of Hogwarts, even if there’s no immediate threat. From what I’ve read in the Daily Prophet, Grindelwald has only conducted a few attacks here in Britain, and seemed to focus on specific people, rather than on places. But if he ever were to launch an attack in Britain, Hogwarts might be a target. Even if he only did enough damage to lower the morale of the wizarding world, people -children- might still be hurt. And if one of the holes in our security is the animagus identification problem, then we must address that. Even if he does not know of or make use of that weakness, someone else might, someday. I am willing, Professor, and will put all of my efforts into achieving the animagus transformation.” Minerva gazed earnestly at her professor.

Dumbledore smiled at the end of her speech. “Thank you, Miss McGonagall,” he said softly. “But you must put some effort into your other schoolwork, as well. Do not forget your NEWTs are less than two years away!”

Minerva furrowed her brow, “Of course not, but isn’t this more important than how well I do on my NEWTs?”

“It would be only if I thought you were disposable, Minerva, only if I valued your life solely to the extent to which you might benefit me in this moment. Even then, a longer view might prove that wrong. But your life is important; whatever we may be able to accomplish with the wards, with your help, is not to be compared with all that you may achieve throughout your life. Your NEWT-level classes are the foundation for that life. I also want you to be happy, my dear. Once your part in the warding project is over, do you think you would be happy to find that you have lost the opportunity to study subjects other than the animagus transfiguration? No, my dear, you must apply yourself to your extra credit project, to be sure, but not to the exclusion of all else.”

Minerva thought about what her mentor had just said. It made sense, and it warmed her heart, as well, to know that he appreciated her, Minerva McGonagall, not just some useful, trustworthy potential animagus. She smiled at him then, her affection for him bubbling through, and said, “Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I will follow your advice. But I am still honoured to be able to help you.”

Shortly thereafter, he managed to convince her to retire for the night, pointing out that yawning three times in as many minutes was probably an indication that she needed her sleep. He reminded her that he was just one room away, and that she could call Wilspy at any time.

[MMADfan]

Okay, here it is, the arrival of It. More will follow tomorrow. (I love all the feedback and nice comments, by the way -- you folks are terrific!)

XXI: An Unexpected Arrival

Minerva didn’t really remember falling asleep that night, and when she awoke, it was bright morning, and Wilspy was calling her name. “Miss Minerva, Professor’s Miss! Wake up! It is time for Miss to have breakfast.” When she saw Minerva stirring, Wilspy popped away.

Minerva sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed, then padded into the little bathroom to wash up and use the toilet. As she dressed, she wondered where she was supposed to go to have breakfast, and was just buckling her shoes when she heard a rap on the door that led to Dumbledore’s sitting room.

“Yes,” she called, “Professor, is that you? You may come in. Wilspy woke me up a while ago.”

The door opened, revealing Professor Dumbledore, who apparently was not at his best first thing in the morning. He was wearing a long, brocade and satin dressing gown over what appeared to be a long night shirt, and his feet were clad in peculiar fuzzy slippers with wiggling ears.

“Good morning, Minerva. I haven’t dressed yet, as you can plainly see, but I wanted to let you know that when you are ready for breakfast, you can just come into the study and call for Wilspy. I will join you when I am more properly attired.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

After they had eaten breakfast, Minerva packed up the few things she’d brought from her dormitory the night before. When she stepped into the study to tell Professor Dumbledore that she was returning to the tower, and to ask if he wanted to meet with her later that day, he was engrossed in what looked like arithmantic calculations, but with symbols she had never seen used before. That reminded her of the book that her father had sent for him. The two agreed that they would meet at two o’clock for a few hours, and that she would bring the book with her then.

On her way back up to her dormitory, she encountered, separately, both Professor Gamp, who did not seem startled to see her, but who simply nodded a curt greeting, as usual, and Professor Dustern, who did seem surprised to see her. At the explanation that she had arrived early in order to prepare for a special project in Transfiguration, Dustern seemed miffed, Minerva thought, that the project was not with her. Shaking her head at the oddness of adults, she gave the password to the Fat Lady’s portrait and entered the common room. In the middle of the day, having just run into two professors after having had a nice breakfast with Professor Dumbledore, she did not find the empty Gryffindor Tower at all creepy or weird, and settled down with a book, luxuriating in the peace and quiet.

Thus, Minerva spent the few days before the rest of the students arrived back at the castle Monday evening, reading, thinking, and having tutorials with Professor Dumbledore. Taking lunch and dinner at the round table in the Great Hall wasn't nearly as strange as she'd thought it would be, and she enjoyed talking with the different professors, although she always preferred to sit by her Head of House.

At the Welcoming Feast, when other students, chiefly fellow prefects, asked her why she hadn’t been on the train, she explained, “Family business,” in such a tone as to forestall any questions, even from her friends. The new school year started, but to Minerva, it felt anticlimactic after her long conversation with Dumbledore about the Hogwarts' wards.

And so the weeks went by, and late summer faded as cold autumn winds blew in off the lake, and the days grew shorter. Minerva’s birthday came, largely unremarked, although her parents sent her a lovely necklace that had been her Great-grandmother McGonagall’s, and her three brothers each sent a book, which was what they usually gave her for her birthday, and their congratulations on coming of age. Professor Dumbledore also gave her a book, a very old copy of The Book of Taliesin, saying "Felicitations, Miss McGonagall!"

It was clear the volume he gave her had at one point been comprised of separate parchments that had later been cut apart and sewn together into its current form. Looking through it, Minerva recognised that there were poems there that she had never seen before, and others that she did expect to see were not there. Her Welsh was very rusty, having studied it with her father before she came to Hogwarts, but not having used it much since. She got the feeling, holding and looking at the book, that this was not something one could pick up in Flourish & Botts for any price.

“Professor,” Minerva said slowly, “where did you get this? It’s very old. . . .”

“It was in my grandfather’s library, and in his grandfather’s library, and as far as I remember being told, in his grandfather’s library, as well. You needn’t worry it’s stolen,” he teased.

“It’s not that,” Minerva said, gently closing the book, “it’s that I don’t think I can accept it.”

“Minerva, I will be very disappointed if you don’t. I wanted to give you something special; you have come of age, but you have also been working very hard to achieve a part of the art that Taliesin is said to have attained with no effort. You deserve to receive something special to acknowledge that hard work. It seemed that this book would find a good and worthy home with you.”

After that speech, Minerva could not refuse the gift, but did keep it wrapped in a locked and warded drawer in her wardrobe, only taking it out to look at when no one else was present.

Some weeks later, Minerva was sitting in the Transfiguration classroom late one evening. She had advanced in the exercises that she was able to practice without supervision, and was in the midst of one that required particularly intense concentration, when she was suddenly startled by the opening classroom door. She had the impression that she was trying to stand, when, suddenly, everything went black and cold.

“Minerva, Minerva! Here, now, can you open your eyes, my dear?”

Minerva slowly became aware that, although she had apparently fallen to the floor, she was being held in someone’s warm, strong arms. She knew it was Professor Dumbledore calling to her, and she could tell by the feel of the arm around her shoulder, and from the slight aroma of lemon and sandlewood wafting down, that it was he who held her. She knew she should open her eyes for him, but she was comfortable, and just wanted to stay there. Just stay there forever.

But he called again, “Minerva, Minerva, please, my dear, open your eyes. Now is not the time for sleep.”

Her eyes fluttered, then she closed them, again, relaxing even more deeply into his arms. “Don’t want you to let go . . . .” she mumbled.

“I won’t let go, my dear, but you need to open your eyes for me. Open your eyes!” The last sounded like an irresistable command, and so she did.

“Professor?”

“Yes, my dear. I am so sorry to have caused your accident. It seems that my entrance caused you to switch your magical focus from internal to external too quickly. It’s not a common occurrence, but not unexpected, either. Rather like the magical equivalent of fainting when standing up too quickly if you haven’t been eating right.”

“I don’t faint,” murmured Minerva blearily.

“Now, don’t close your eyes again just yet. That’s right, just look up at me. That’s good, Minerva, my dear . . . .”

Minerva scarcely heard anymore of the reassuring words he said: she was aware only that she was resting across his lap, cradled in his left arm, head resting against his chest. She could feel his right hand gently stroking her forehead, long fingers softly stroking her temple then caressing her cheek, and, in the flickering candlelight, she saw his blue eyes, filled with concern, focused on her face, focused on her alone. But what she was most aware of was the beating of his heart, the thrumming of his magic, and the answering throb of her own pulsing life. Minerva wanted to stay in his arms forever, to have him hold her, to kiss him, to have him return her kisses. She felt the steady beat of her own heart increase, and the heat of her blood spread upward to fill her breast with an almost painful new passion. And then the heat spread lower, heavy, flowing, swelling, throbbing, inexorable, filling her with a desire she’d never truly known before, but which, even in the haze of her intense awareness of him, she recognised.

Some part of Minerva was appalled at the unexpected arrival of these intense feelings for the man holding her, some part was ashamed, but the part of her that was melting into her professor’s arms –that part of her never wanted to let him go, and never wanted to let go of these feelings. Need, want, and desire bubbled through her spirit. A giving, grasping, wanting, embracing passion leapt within her.

The passion rising up in her body and in her soul merged gladly with the love already singing in her heart. Unable to help herself, Minerva turned her face further toward him, not wanting to lose sight of his brilliant eyes, nor of his sensitive lips, but nonetheless wanting to bury her face in his warm beard and burrow closer to the beating heart that throbbed an echoing call to her own.

Albus, unaware of the emotional turmoil his young Gryffindor was experiencing, continued stroking her forehead and caressing her cheek. “There, there, Minerva, you’ll be all right soon. All will be well. There, there, stay awake for me, Minerva, my dear.”

She was his dear, his Minerva, some part of her thought muzzily. And she would be his forever.

Then, abruptly, another awareness broke through her sweet content, and assaulted the warmth that had settled in her soul. A cold, clenching, acute pain encircled her heart with a cruel realisation. She was a student. She was his student. That was all she was, and all she could ever be, whispered a voice within her.

He was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: renowned wizard, hero, Keeper of Hogwarts’ Wards, Deputy Headmaster, Head of Gryffindor House, and Transfiguration Professor. She was Minerva McGonagall, sixth year Gryffindor Transfiguration student. Perhaps he valued her for herself; but there was no denying that what she was . . . well, that wasn’t much at all.

She began to weep, almost silently, against him, tasting the salt of her tears on his beard as she opened her mouth to draw a gasping, choking breath. It would never go away. It would never go away. She knew that, as surely she knew that the sun rises in morning. It was lodged in her, bound to her soul, bound to her love. As her tears continued to flow, hot, unrelenting, and silent, Minerva knew that hers was not even to dream, never even to dream. Never even to dream . . . . It had consumed her rapidly, completely, and had left her only with a taunting glimpse of what she could never have.

She would die of It, she was sure. Yes, she would die of It.

[MMADfan]

durc09 said:

another great installement xxxx

Thanks, durc09! I hope you like the next batch. I am afraid they end on rather a sad-ish note, but don't worry, happiness will come along again!

[Miss Q]

Wow... I mean simply... wow! Wonderfull! Thank you for sharing this lovely story with us!

M

[elivania]

Oh. My. God. I am positively rivited by this marvelous display of talent and incredible story....

...BUT


HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD I NEED MORE!

This is amazing, to say the least, and I will die in anticipation for your next post.

*Eli*

[MMADfan]

missq said:

Wow... I mean simply... wow! Wonderfull! Thank you for sharing this lovely story with us!

M

Thank you! <*blushes*>

There's more to come. I hope you continue to enjoy it!

-MMADfan

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

Oh. My. God. I am positively rivited by this marvelous display of talent and incredible story....

...BUT

HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD I NEED MORE!

This is amazing, to say the least, and I will die in anticipation for your next post.

*Eli*

Thank you, thank you, thank you! But I sincerely hope that you do not die in anticipation! I would hate for you to miss what's coming!

I hope that you continue to read my little story -- and respond. It's encouraging for me!

-MMADfan

[PiER]

Absolutely bloody brilliant!
I am eagerly awaiting your next update and Merlin knows it better be soon!
But about this Gertie...do I like her? What's the deal?
I just need to mention once again how much I like this story...flippin' great!

PiER

[Trulyamused]

Absolutely Wonderful.

Poor Minerva, love is often inopportune. I have a feeling things well straighten themselves out.

Again, wonderful.

Truly

[MMADfan]

pier said:

Absolutely bloody brilliant!
I am eagerly awaiting your next update and Merlin knows it better be soon!
But about this Gertie...do I like her? What's the deal?
I just need to mention once again how much I like this story...flippin' great!

Thank you, PiER!

Hmm, Gertie. Well, Minerva doesn't dislike her, if that helps any. I don't know if she precisely likes her, either. There's a little more of Gertie in the next part, so you might be able to decide then if you like her . . . or if you want to claw her eyes out.

-MMADfan

[MMADfan]

XXII: Lunch in the Great Hall

Having finished dressing and casting a few discreet glamours to conceal the redness and puffiness of her face, Minerva went into the small loo to relieve herself of some of the tea she had drunk. She had always liked having her loo separate from her bathroom. The tiny room had three doors, one led to the bathroom, one to her bedroom, and one out to her sitting room. She exited through the latter, and sighed when she looked at the clock that sat on her mantlepiece. Fortunately, it was an ordinary clock, with ordinary chimes, and, to Minerva’s way of thinking, the correct number of hands. She really didn’t like being told, “Almost time for lunch!” or “Time to teach Transfiguration!” or “You’re going to be late if you don’t leave NOW!” This more civilized timepiece merely informed her, when she glanced at it, that it was four minutes before noon. She would technically be late, even if she were to leave now, although staff drifted in anytime between noon and twelve-thirty; generally, she arrived no later than five past the hour.

Minerva sat down on her small sofa and gazed at the clock, not really seeing it. If she left now, there would still be many chairs left to choose from. She would likely have to leave at least one chair free beside her. If Albus came in after she did, as she presumed he would, since he usually arrived between five and ten minutes later than she, he might choose to sit next to her. Minerva didn’t think she could bear that just yet, sitting beside him in public, trying to behave as though everything were normal, when it was not. At least, it was not to her. For all she knew, the injured expression Poppy thought saw in his face had never been there, or, if it had been, any hurt was as fleeting as the expression had been. Not that Minerva believed that Albus had forgotten what she had said, but perhaps he had simply dismissed it from his mind. Perhaps . . . no, Minerva was not going to go ’round and ’round again, tormenting herself with thoughts of her own inadequacy, or of her relative unimportance in Albus’s life.

She couldn’t pretend to believe that she was completely insignificant to him anymore than she could bring herself to believe that she held a special place in his life. At one time, she had thought that they were becoming good friends –despite It and the dangers she believed that It posed to her ability be near him– and she had imagined that being at Hogwarts together again would strengthen and deepen their friendship. Her hopes had risen after he had come to her housewarming party –late, but it hadn’t mattered at the time; all that had mattered was that he had come, and he had stayed, for hours. No, Minerva told herself firmly, she must not think of that lovely evening, nor of her disappointment when, over the ensuing weeks, she rarely saw the headmaster alone, or even in an informal setting in which they could simply talk together.

Minerva gritted her teeth and watched the clock. The hands moved slowly; finally, Minerva judged it late enough to be able to reach the Great Hall before there was only one chair left –possibly beside Albus– but early enough to be able to sit between two other people, in the event that Albus hadn’t arrived yet.

Minerva didn’t know whether to be happy or disappointed to see that Albus wasn’t in the Great Hall yet, but she was pleased enough to be able to sit between Professor Gamp and Hagrid. She and Gertrude got on well enough, she supposed. They were never overly friendly with one another, but neither of them was the effusive type, either. Minerva had always appreciated Professor Gamp’s matter-of-fact attitude about her inclusion in the wards project, and her silent acceptance of her as a quasi-colleague back then. She never seemed to have trouble distinguishing between Miss-McGonagall-the-student and Miss-McGonagall-the-wards-tester. Minerva had been grateful that Professor Gamp had never treated her with condescension, as though she were a mere pupil, on the occasions she had joined Albus and Minerva in their work. Gertrude had to be the most blunt, forthright Slytherin whom Minerva had ever met. Not that she was particularly talkative, of course, and Minerva sometimes wondered about what was going on behind those sharp eyes of hers. Nonetheless, Minerva could hold nothing against her, personally, although she sometimes envied Gertrude her access to the headmaster.

Minerva greeted everyone as she took her seat between Gertrude and Hagrid, nodding particularly to Gertrude. Apparently, Professor Gamp took this as a sign that Minerva wished to begin a conversation.

“Did Albus find you this morning?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Minerva’s stomach clenched. She really couldn’t get into a discussion of Albus, or this morning, with Gertrude, especially not at the dining table like this.

“He and I left his office together this morning after we’d met,” she said between chews. “He told me he was going to look for you. He seemed to think you might be in the hospital wing if you weren’t in your rooms. Did he find you?”

“Yes, he found me.” Minerva stuffed a lettuce leaf in her mouth.

“So you were able to meet, then? Good. I know he had wanted to. Asked me whether you had arrived or not when I fetched him from his bathroom.” Gertie shook her head, grinning slightly at the memory, and ate a bit of her quiche.

“No, we didn’t meet,” Minerva answered distractedly, thinking of Gertrude finding Albus in his bathroom. She supposed that was where a wizard would condition his beard, but, still, it seemed a bit intrusive to her.

“No? Unfortunate,” Gertie clucked. “He was so sure he’d find you.”

“Well, he did find me, and I was in the hospital wing. It wasn’t a good time for us to meet,” Minerva answered curtly.

“Not feeling well, Minerva? You do look a bit peaky, come to think of it.” Gertie squinted at her. “You could do with a holiday. First term of teaching is always the hardest. Take a little holiday, and you’ll feel right as rain.”

Minerva had never understood what was so “right” about “rain,” and she really didn’t want to discuss her health or well-being with the older professor, but she recognised that Gertie was trying to be helpful, so she simply said, “Thank you, Gertrude. I may do that.”

Gertrude, thankfully, then turned to Grubbly-Plank, who was sitting beside her, and interrupted a rather loud conversation about the mating habits of the Norwegian Ridgeback that she was having with Hagrid from across the table. Several of the staff were very grateful not to have to listen to Hagrid discuss a particular dragon appendage that was, as he put it, “as long as me arm and as big ’round as me thigh,” and Minerva was simply grateful that she could begin playing with her food in silence again.

Minerva knew she should eat, but her stomach felt as though she’d swallowed a bludger, and her throat was still constricted and dry, despite the tea she’d drunk earlier. She picked at her food, trying to chew and swallow a few fresh vegetables, washing them down with cold strawberry lemonade. As she drank the lemonade, Hagrid asked her how she liked it, and when she replied that it was quite good, he regaled her with his new fertilising method, and how fantastically the strawberries had done that spring as a result; in fact, they were still producing well –some of them as big as his fist, he said, demonstrating by making a fist and holding it in front of her face.

Albus entered the Great Hall and headed toward the table just in time to see Hagrid make a fist and apparently shove it in Minerva’s face. His eyebrows rose at that, but his pace didn’t alter.

When he reached the table, he stopped to stand between Hagrid and Minerva. “So, Hagrid,” he said, “are you threatening one of my valued staff members, then?” Albus smiled brightly at the amiable half-giant.

“Oh, no, P’rfesser Dumbledore, sir, I’d never do that, oh, no, sir! I was just demonstratin’ to Miss Minerva here, er, P’rfesser McGonagall, I mean – ”

Albus interrupted then, “No worries, Hagrid, no worries. I was only joking. I presume you were discussing your prize strawberries with Professor McGonagall,” Albus said, remembering having a similar conversation just last week, although, as they had been standing in the garden at the time, Hagrid’s fist had remained a more respectable distance from his own nose.

Gertie chose to get up from the table at that moment, and come around to stand behind Minerva. “Albus, I must be going now. Thank you for taking the time to see me this morning. I am aware that it was not the most convenient time for you. And I will think about your request while I am on holiday, as I promised you, however, I do not believe that I will change my mind.”

From her position, Minerva could not see the interaction between the two without being very obvious, and turning around. She could see, though, that the headmaster’s left arm rose toward Gertrude, while his right hand remained resting on the back of Hagrid’s chair.

“Very well, Gertie. I will expect an owl or two from you, as we discussed, and you can be certain to be hearing from me, as well!”

Minerva could tell from Albus’s tone that he was smiling. She would not allow herself to be curious about the content of their conversation. As she had so often said, she did not run the school, and Albus’s life was his own, and so nothing they were discussing could be any of her business. Nonetheless, it seemed that the bludger in her stomach grew heavier.

Minerva continued to listen and pretend to eat as the headmaster and his deputy concluded their short conversation. Minerva’s stomach clenched as she heard Gertie’s parting words.

“Well, Albus, it seems the house-elves have already cleared my place; since I’m leaving, why don’t you take my seat?”

“No; thank you, Gertie, but I’ve really needed to speak with Professor Birnbaum about the state of the madragoras. I think I’ll take the opportunity now. Have a safe trip, my dear.”

Minerva ran through such a gamut of emotions in those few moments, that she was surprised she was able to remain upright and maintain her grip on her fork. First, she was terrified that Albus was going to sit beside her; her fear was quickly followed by disappointment that he wasn’t going to, then injury from the apparently disingenuous excuse. The final blow, though, was Albus’s parting “my dear.”

Certainly Minerva had heard Albus call many others “my dear” over the years. She recognised that, for him, it was an almost automatic form of address he used for anyone with whom he had more than a passing acquaintance and of whom he was at least slightly fond. Still, there had been a time when she had imagined that he used that particular appellation more frequently with her than with any other, often combining it with her name: “Minerva, my dear.” That wasn’t “my dear Minerva,” of course, but during her final years at school, and those years between her NEWTs and her return to Hogwarts as a professor, she thrilled despite herself each time she saw him and he used those sweet words.

Minerva continued to play with her food for a while, disguising her lack of appetite by pouring a second glass of lemonade, all the while trying to eavesdrop on Albus’s conversation with the Herbology Professor over Hagrid and Wilhemina’s renewed conversation about dragon mating rituals. Throughout lunch, Poppy had been shooting her sympathetic and curious glances from across the table where she sat on the other side of Johannes Birnbaum. Minerva wished she had noticed earlier that there had been another empty chair between Poppy and Hagrid, for she would have preferred to have sat there, but it had been hidden by Hagrid’s bulk. Minerva had just taken the first available seat. She would not only have been sitting next to Poppy –although they couldn’t have discussed anything about the events of the morning, at least she was a warm and friendly face– but she would have been slightly closer to the conversation she was now trying to overhear. Were they really discussing madragoras? Remembering the privacy ward Albus had cast in the Three Broomsticks so many years ago, she wasn’t sure if she would know whether they were actually talking about Herbology, or whether it would only sound like it, even if she could hear it.

Minerva sighed, and gave up pretending to eat. Sitting here was torment. He had said they would speak during lunch, and now it appeared he was ignoring her. Perhaps he would have said something to her earlier, when he was joking with Hagrid, had it not been that Gertrude had stood at that moment to leave. Minerva made an attempt to relax and unclench her jaw. Gertrude hadn’t even finished her pudding! It was almost as though she had wanted to interrupt the conversation before Albus could speak with her. That would be a Slytherin thing to do, after all. No, that was absurd, Minerva decided. After all, she had then offered Albus her vacated chair. But perhaps she knew he wouldn’t take it? Minerva almost groaned aloud at her convoluted and paranoid thinking. This was not like her at all.

Deciding that she had better leave before she suffered any more self-inflicted torture, Minerva rose from her seat, and nodded to Hagrid and Wilhemina, who didn’t notice, so engrossed were they in their current discussion of the length of a dragon’s tail relative to its other appendages, and how it varied by species. Minerva glanced at Poppy, who now appeared to be speaking with Birnbaum and the headmaster about something to do with the greenhouses, and didn’t seem to notice that Minerva had gotten up from the table. The three other staff who had been present when Minerva had arrived had all left when Hagrid and Grubbly-Plank had begun discussing certain dragon effluvia a few minutes earlier. Feeling a bit as she had during the first months as a student at Hogwarts, Minerva wondered dolefully if she should begin bringing a book with her to meals, and turned to leave.

She hadn’t taken more than a few steps, however, when suddenly Albus appeared at her side. “Professor McGonagall, I believe we need to reschedule our appointment.”

Well, if he was going to be formal, so would she. “Yes, Professor Dumbledore. I am available this afternoon to review the curriculum, if you like.”

Albus smiled at her slightly, but said, “As much as I would like to meet sooner, I believe that later in the afternoon would be more suitable. Will you still be available at, say, five o’clock?”

Five-o’clock? Was he putting her off? And that wouldn’t leave them much time . . . but, of course, if they were only going to discuss the sixth and seventh year curricula, perhaps they could be done in an hour or so. Minerva quickly replied, “Five o’clock would be fine, Professor Dumbledore. I will see you then. Would you like me to come prepared to discuss anything other than the curriculum?” she asked, thinking it Gryffindor of her to raise the subject, even so obliquely, and feeling her hands go numb with anxiety at the same time.

“Just bring along the lesson plans, as we had agreed, and any other books or parchments you may think useful in our discussion.” Albus looked at Minerva, perhaps expecting another question, but when she merely nodded, not quite meeting his eyes, he added, “I look forward to seeing you at five o’clock, then, my dear Professor.”

Minerva didn’t have time to blink, and he was gone, returned to his conversation with Birnbaum and Poppy. As she walked slowly from the Great Hall, then climbed the stairs, she thought absently that she ought to ask Poppy what she and the two wizards had been discussing so intently. She no longer cared very much what they had been talking about, however, as she turned Albus’s last words over in her mind, savouring them. “My dear Professor.” Perhaps she was making too much of it, but she hadn’t ever heard him put those words together in that particular way before, not when speaking with her, not when speaking with anyone, in fact. Certainly, whatever else it meant, it must mean that he had not held her own words against her. How different, she thought, as she approached the portrait guarding her door, how very different from the last words he had heard from her mouth that morning in Poppy’s office.

Next: Before her meeting with Albus, Minerva trains a house-elf, eats more ginger newts, curls up in her blanket, and reflects on her growing affection for her Transfiguration Professor during her sixth year animagus training.

[MMADfan]

XXIII: To Train a House-Elf . . .

On entering her sitting room, Minerva removed her outer robe and draped it across the back of an armchair. Perversely, she now felt hungry. She went into her tiny kitchen, measured tea leaves into a pot, then filled the kettle with cold water from the tap, waving her wand to bring it up to just a boil. After pouring the hot water over the tea and leaving it to steep, she went to her bedroom, where she was pleased to find that Blampa had not cleaned up. In her bathroom, she found the two plates of biscuits, sitting on the still-hovering tray. Not caring, really, whether the plates had a freshness charm on them or not, she took the plates and their contents back into the sitting room with her.

Discovering she had no milk in her cool cupboard for her tea, Minerva sighed and resigned herself to having to call Blampa again. She wondered if she had been given the most annoying house-elf at Hogwarts, and if so, if it were deliberate.

“Blampa!”

With a loud snick, the little elf appeared. “Yes, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am! May Blampa serve?”

“Yes, Blampa. First, I need some fresh milk for my tea. Then I need you to come back, and I will tell you how else you may serve.”

“Yes, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am!” cried Blampa happily before she whisked away to fetch her Professor her milk.

She returned promptly, and Minerva asked her to please clean the bathroom and take care of the bedroom –but not to touch the sitting room or the kitchen, please.

“Also, Blampa, there is one more thing I’d like you to do for me,” said Minerva seriously.

“Oh, yes, Miss Professor Minerva!!!” Blampa hopped up and down. Minerva thought she might pee in her excitement.

“Well, Blampa, it’s something I would really like you to do, but it’s very difficult . . . .” Minerva trailed off dramatically.

“Oh, Blampa is hard worker, Miss Professor! Blampa try very very hard!”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s so difficult. It may not be fair of me to ask you. It might be too hard for you to do.”

“Oh, but Blampa wants her Miss Professor Minerva to be happy, Miss Professor! Please let Blampa serve!” Blampa now seemed anxious that she would not be asked to perform this difficult task for her professor.

“Well, Blampa, it would make me very happy . . . .” Minerva could see that Blampa was quivering with house-elf excitement at the prospect of making her professor happy. “But . . . .” Minerva paused dramatically, shaking her head. “No, I just don’t think it would be fair of me to ask this of you, please forgive me, Blampa.” Minerva tried to maintain her attitude of utter dejection, which wasn’t difficult, given the day she was having.

“Oh, nooo!” wailed Blampa. “Oh, Miss Professor Minerva, Blampa try very very hard to make Miss Professor Minerva happy. Blampa want to serve Miss Professor!”

“Well, if you really think you could try . . . you see, Blampa, when I was growing up, we had house-elves serve our family, too. Oh, and they were very good house-elves, and they all still serve McGonagalls. Yes, they were very good house-elves.” Minerva sighed. She could see that Blampa was quivering with desire to be as good a house-elf as a McGonagall house-elf. “But you’re not a McGonagall house-elf, Blampa. You are a Hogwarts house-elf.” Minerva shook her head again, as if discouraged by the thought.

“But Blampa can be a good house-elf just like Miss Professor wants. Blampa promise!”

“Well, you see, Blampa, that’s just it . . . well, it’s not everything, but, well, you see, what you just said, ‘Blampa promise,’ you can’t make a promise that way, Blampa. No, if someone promises, even a house-elf, they have to say ‘I promise,’ or, well, I just can’t believe them.”

“Well, Blampa try hard.” She looked very confused by Minerva’s last speech. “Blampa say for Miss Professor, Blampa, I, promise.”

“Well . . .” Minerva looked dubious. “I don’t suppose you could say, ‘I, Blampa, promise,’ can you?”

“Ah, very easy, Miss Professor! I, Blampa, promise Blampa try hard.” Blampa looked pleased with herself.

“That’s not bad, Blampa, but shouldn’t you say ‘I, Blampa, promise I try hard’?” suggested Minerva.

Blampa blinked a few times, then said, “I, Blampa, promise I, Blampa, try hard.” Good enough, thought Minerva.

“Now Blampa promised Miss Professor,” said the house-elf, “how can Blampa serve Miss Professor and try hard?”

“Blampa, all of the McGonagall house-elves use the word ‘I’ as you just did when you made your promise to me. It would make me very, very happy if you would also use the word ‘I,’ and stop always calling yourself ‘Blampa’ every time you speak of yourself to me. You may continue to do so with others, but it would make me so happy if you would just say ‘I’ instead of ‘Blampa.’ I will think you are a very good house-elf, then, and find more ways for you to serve me. Wouldn’t you like to do more for me?”

“Yes, Miss Professor.” Blampa looked stunned, and as though she didn’t know what to say if she couldn’t refer to herself in the third person anymore.

“Well, that’s good, then. You know, you can also find ways to say things without referring to yourself at all. For example, you could say to me, ‘Does Professor McGonagall require anything?’ Do you see, Blampa?”

Blampa nodded, ears flapping, but still struggling for words.

“And Blampa, if you could address me as ‘Professor McGonagall,’ or at least ‘Professor Minerva,’ I would be very pleased. I don’t like being called ‘Miss Professor,’ although I’m sure other professors probably don’t mind it.”

“Yes, Mi- Professor Minerva, ma’am. I, Blampa, try hard to make Professor Minerva happy. I, Blampa, try very hard.”

Minerva bit her tongue in an effort to keep from laughing. She supposed that “I, Blampa” could be seen as a step in the right direction.

“One more thing, Blampa, then you may go. If you ever don’t understand my instructions, or if you think they don’t make any sense, you must ask me to explain what I mean. I was unhappy when you didn’t clean my rooms for three days that time, but it was my fault because I’d told you not to come back until I called you. If I ever say anything like that again, I would be very happy if you would ask me to explain what I meant. You have a brain, Blampa. I can tell you are a very clever house-elf,” well, actually, she wasn’t sure about that, “and if you use your brain, and are very clever, you can be an even better house-elf for me. That’s all for now, Blampa. Please resume your normal duties.”

After a curtsy, and opening and closing her mouth a few times without saying anything, Blampa popped away.

Minerva sighed, and cast a warming charm on her teapot. The tea wouldn’t taste as good, but she was glad that she had finally spoken with Blampa. She didn’t know if house-elves could change the way they spoke after so many years of service, and perhaps she would cause Blampa some trouble, if she started using the word “I” in front of the wrong people, or elves, but she assumed that Blampa must have some sort of house-elf-self-preservation instinct that would kick in and keep her from appearing too uppity, except when she was with Minerva.

Minerva drank her tea, and ate a shortbread. The shortbread seemed dry and rather tasteless to her, so she picked up a ginger newt, and chewed on that, concentrating on the crunchy softness and the warm, sweet, spicy flavour. Perhaps it was a happy taste, she thought, finishing the last ginger newt.

“Blampa!” Time to reinforce her training, thought Minerva, as Blampa popped back in. This was the most that Minerva had called her in one day since she’d arrived in December and been assigned the rumpled little elf.

“May Blampa serve Professor Minerva?” Well, not a bad try.

“Yes, please, Blampa. I have found the ginger newts you brought me this morning to be very tasty. Whenever you bring me any biscuits, please always include ginger newts with them, if possible.”

“Oh, yes, Professor Minerva! I, Blampa, be sure ginger newts be possible for Professor Minerva!”

“Thank you, Blampa. Now the most important thing I am asking of you is this: I have an appointment this afternoon with the Headmaster at five o’clock. Can you tell time, Blampa?” Minerva was never sure how the house-elves knew when it was time for dinner, or breakfast, or whatever.

“Yes, Mi- Professor Minerva. I, Blampa, knows time. I, Blampa, knows when it is five o’clock.”

“Good, Blampa. So you will know when it is four-thirty?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, Professor Minerva.”

“I am going to take a nap this afternoon, Blampa. I am very tired, but I do not want to sleep too long and miss my appointment with the Headmaster. I need you to make sure that I am awake at four-thirty and that I get up from my nap to get ready for my appointment. Do you understand?” Minerva always felt the Hogwarts house-elves were somewhat dim compared to those she’d grown up around.

“Of course, Professor Minerva, I, Blampa, wakes Professor Minerva for her appointment. Professor Minerva not to worry. Professor Minerva take happy nap with happy blanket, and not worry!”

“Thank you, Blampa. That will be all for now.”

Minerva possessed an alarm clock, of course, or she could cast a Tempus charm to alert her, but she thought it best to actually be awoken by something sentient, so that she wouldn’t oversleep. Lengthy afternoon naps were sometimes difficult for Minerva to wake from, unless she napped in her animagus form, but sleeping in her animagus form always left her feeling somewhat disoriented after she transfigured back.

Minerva entered her bedroom, and cast a Tempus charm for four-thirty-five, as insurance, then undressed down to her knickers and chemise, carefully draping her mossy-coloured robe across her bench, and laying her stockings next to it. She stepped over to the bed and reached out hesitantly to touch the afghan that Albus had given her. Blampa’s reference to a happy nap in a happy blanket made her think of Albus’s gift. She picked it up and held it to her, resting her cheek against its soft weave. Struggling with what to do next, she closed her eyes. She should just push the bedclothes aside, get into bed, pull up the sheet, and take her nap, she thought. She stroked the soft wool blanket gently, then replaced it on the bed and looked at it a moment, considering.

Minerva picked up her wand from her dressing table and cast a cooling charm on the room. She removed her chemise and knickers, setting them on top of her stockings. Naked now, she stood still a moment. Still not cool enough, although her nipples had tightened with the lowered temperature. Minerva cast another cooling charm, then one more for good measure. Now she shivered. Reaching for the afghan, it occurred to her that, after this morning, she surely should not be doing this. It would only serve to torment her further. But this was surely a happy blanket, even if she weren’t a happy witch. Perhaps it would do no harm . . . .

Minerva wrapped the afghan around her, and, as she had so many times during that cold winter, invoked, “Warm me.” Minerva lay down, cocooned in the large afghan. The warmth of the charm didn’t rush over her, but gently and slowly flowed and spread, until she felt as though she were enveloped in it. Closing her eyes, Minerva remembered that fateful evening, all those years ago in the Transfiguration class when she first found It within her. She had never named It, though she well knew Its true nature, and name. At the time, she had thought that It had overtaken her suddenly, and, certainly, It came into her awareness with an unexpected and surprising rush of feeling. She had believed that perhaps It had actually been caused somehow by her magical accident, and that It was a mere artifact of that accident, not real except for the torment it caused her.

But then she came to realise that It was real. The accident didn’t cause It to suddenly pop into being, out of nowhere. The “circumstances” of her accident, as she called them euphemistically –the openness of her senses and her magic following her meditative exercises, combined with regaining consciousness in Albus’s arms, feeling him caress her face, smelling his scent, hearing his heartbeat, sensing his magic– only served to ignite what was already a small spark within her. And, if she were being honest with herself all these years later, she knew that it would have only been a matter of time before that spark grew to a flame. She had loved him, she admitted to herself, since she was thirteen years old. He was easy to love, and, had times been different, her love of him would have remained the love of a child for her professor, maturing into the affection of an adult for a favourite former mentor.

But times weren’t different, and the tenor of their tutorials was effected by the events of the time. How could she not feel admiration for him, knowing what he did for the good of the wizarding and muggle worlds, and for Hogwarts? And how could she not see him as a human being, and a man, when she knew what he went through for the sake of others, for the way it affected him, and then admire him for it all the more now that he was a human being, rather than a seemingly-omnipotent adult. He was human, touched by the evil of the world, and yet still he continued to spend himself for others. Minerva’s care, concern, and admiration for her professor had entwined with her childish love of him, creating a steady, trusting, generous, mature love long before that evening in the Transfiguration classroom.

But what happened in that classroom – Minerva shivered despite the warmth of the blanket – that ought not have happened that way. It should have come as a slow, steadily increasing awareness, one that she could steer and overcome, one that might fade after she had left Hogwarts. She had been feeling slight rushes of awareness of Albus, as a man, before that fateful evening, to be sure. But those small sparks had glowed and faded and reappeared for months, leaving little trace, and no pain, not even wistfullness. Toward the end of her fifth year, she had found herself wondering idly one day why he didn’t seem to have a wife or, and she had blushed darkly at the word, a lover. He hadn’t been at the school his whole life, she reasoned. Surely he had had some kind of private life before he started teaching. She didn’t contemplate it long, though, concluding that he was probably far too busy to be in a relationship of that sort. Shortly after that, however, she decided it was a pity he didn’t have a lady friend, as her mother would say, since he seemed so weary lately, and he didn’t have anyone to come home to after his mysterious, exhausting trips –not unless you counted Wilspy, and even at a rather-sheltered-sixteen years old, she knew perfectly well that a house-elf could not provide what he needed. After their dinner “chez Albus,” when he had appeared depleted and sad, she had considered that perhaps she could help him and provide him support. She avoided thinking about any implication that she might be taking the place she believed a “lady friend” should have, and blushed inwardly whenever that thought crept near.

Without doubt, thought Minerva, there was also the occasion on which he had apparated her from her parents’ home to Hogwarts. She had stepped, unthinking and trusting, into his embrace, later telling herself that it was not an embrace at all, but cherishing it as one, just the same. She would lie in bed at night, thinking of her project, or her schoolwork, or one of her friends’ latest predicaments, and then, just as she was about to drift off to sleep, she would remember him holding her and easing her apparition. Again she would feel the warmth of his arm around her, again, the caress of his silk robes against her cheek, the pulse of his heart, the vibration of his magic, and the soft whisper of his breath on her face. Sometimes, the memory would force her awake, and she would steer her thoughts in other directions until her blush faded and her eyes grew heavy. Other, rare, times, she would allow herself to sink into the tactile memory of it until she felt as though she was falling asleep in his arms.

Minerva pulled the afghan closer around her, and wished she’d cast one more cooling charm on the room. Lying wrapped in the soft blanket like this was as close as she could come to lying in the embrace of its giver. She felt ashamed, then, and pathetic. To need it so much that she would seek out this paltry substitute was pitiable. Her shame was that he could not possibly have any idea of how she was using his gift, and how little he would think of her, if he did –certainly to wrap herself in it for warmth on a chilly winter night was acceptable, but to use it this way, to pretend that she was lying in his arms, surrounded by his embrace and his magic . . . she scorned herself for her need, but capitulated to it, nonetheless.

Note: When I started this little story, I thought it might be reach a dozen posts, and here we are now at Part XXIII, and there is far more to tell. I will continue posting regular updates until the story is told. I have also, as I mentioned, begun posting over at ffnet (a site about which I am ambivalent, but visit regularly, anyway), and have posted the first nine or ten sections already. Thank you for reading!
-MMADfan

[Miss Q]

This story grows on me with very new part! Please write more!!! I can't wait to see what happens next!!!

M

[elivania]

Nice update, but I'm still waiting for more of IT...Thanks for doing two sections. They're wonderful!

*Eli*

[MMADfan]

missq said:

This story grows on me with very new part! Please write more!!! I can't wait to see what happens next!!!

I'm so glad, Miss Q! I have more written, but it's not ready for posting quite yet. We'll have a little more retrospective from Minerva's point-of-view, then go to the meeting with Albus, which I hope that everyone will enjoy.

-MMADfan

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

Nice update, but I'm still waiting for more of IT...Thanks for doing two sections. They're wonderful!

Thank you, Eli! I am afraid you will need to exercise just a little tiny bit of patience while waiting for more of IT, however. Just think of how much patience poor Minerva has had to exercise all these years . . .

Don't worry, we will catch little glimpses of IT here and there -- and learn a few rather interesting things about . . . well, I can't say without giving it away. However, when IT finally . . . hmm, I guess I can't talk about that yet, either!

Hope you have fun and enjoy the story in the meantime!

-MMADfan