Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

What a wonderful chapter. Very sweet. I don't really know what else to say about it. Just wonderful. *Eli*

Thanks, Eli! The next installment is a bit delayed -- RL does interfere with fanfic writing, unfortunately! -- but will likely be up on Saturday at some point.

I've stocked up on Dove Dark Chocolate Promises to help my creativity along. Two or three of those per day, and I can write MMADly! ;D

Thanks for being such a loyal reader & reviewer! (I'll have to read some of your fic once I'm finally done with this story, Eli. I'm looking forward to release from my self-imposed restrictions on reading ADMM fanfic until I'm finished with this!)

-MMADfan

[MMADfan]

Note: Sorry about the longer-than-usual delay in posting an update. There's more to come, but since it's not "ready for primetime" yet, I thought I'd post this teeny, tiny update. Hopefully, it will whet your appetites for more!

Part XXXVI: A Missent Missive

One cheery September morning in the McGonagall household, Merwyn joined his wife for breakfast in the small, sunny room where the two took their meals whenever it was only the two of them at home. Now that Minerva was working at the Ministry, and their three sons were long established in their own lives, Egeria and Merwyn had a comfortable daily routine. Egeria had always been an early riser, with a much greater morning appetite than Merwyn, who needed at least two cups of tea before he could think about eating even a slice of toast.

Egeria would wake first, throw on a dressing gown, and go down to the kitchen to brew the tea and speak with Fwisky or one of the other house-elves about breakfast. Egeria always preferred to brew her own tea, saying that it was a calming ritual that helped her start her day. She would then go into the little morning room, whose draperies had already been opened by the house-elves, and pour her first cup while awaiting the first Owls of the morning. Sometimes the only early Post-Owl would be the one delivering the Daily Prophet, but occasionally other early post would arrive while she was sipping her tea, sometimes from one of her prospective mothers, other times from a new mother who was concerned about the health of her infant. Egeria would be on her second cup of tea, reading the Prophet, and beginning her breakfast before Merwyn would shuffle in, squinting in nonverbal protest at the sunlight pouring through the windows. He always felt that it was much gentler to wake to a cloudy morning.

That morning, however, was not the slightest bit overcast, and as Merwyn stumbled into the breakfast room with his customary squint, he greeted his wife with a slight grunt; she blew him a kiss over the top of the newspaper. Merwyn had barely settled into his chair and had not even contemplated his first cup of tea, when a particularly large and impressive owl flew to one the large windows behind Egeria and thunked his head against the glass insistently. Merwyn only looked at it blearily. Egeria smiled, shook her head at her husband’s still semi-somnolent state, and waved her wand to let the bird in.

Egeria gave the owl a bit of toast with plum butter as she accepted the parchment from its talons.

“How odd,” she said to her husband, who was drinking his tea with his eyes closed, “it’s from Minerva, addressed to us both. I didn’t think we’d hear from her again until the weekend. Perhaps she can’t come up on Friday, after all.”

Egeria opened the parchment where it had been sealed with a Charm, read the first two sentences, then dropped the letter to her plate. Merwyn was awake enough to see that his wife had gone deathly pale, certainly not her usual reaction upon receiving a letter from their daughter.

“What is it, Egeria? Let me see that,” he said, taking the letter from her plate. After reading the first sentence, he could understand why his wife had been shocked. Upon finishing the first paragraph, he became puzzled. He scanned the rest of the letter quickly. “Egeria, Egeria, love, it’s all right. She wrote this months ago. In January. It must have been sent by the Ministry in error. Minerva’s fine.” Merwyn put an arm around his wife. “This must have been something she wrote back before she came home on leave from the Ministry last winter, remember? She went to her friend’s funeral in Ireland, and Albus came to visit. This is dated just a few days before she showed up on the doorstep.”

Egeria, relieved, reached for the letter. “Did you read the whole thing, dear?”

“No, I just scanned it quickly; once I had finished the first paragraph, it struck me there was something very odd about it.”

“‘Very odd’ is an understatement, Merwyn.” Egeria read the letter through, then, tears in her eyes, handed it back to her husband. “I think you should read it.”

“Dear Mother and Dad,

“If you are reading this, then I must apologise for the pain I have caused you. You must know that I wanted to return home to you, and that I would have done what I could in order to see you again. But you also know that I could not refuse the mission that was given me – I do not know if you are aware of its nature, so best not speak of it here – nor could I leave anyone behind if leaving him would mean abandoning him to an evil fate.

“You have both always given me the greatest encouragement and love that any daughter could receive from any parents. You always allowed me the freedom to find my own path, and, where possible, gave me the tools to do so successfully. I have always known that you were as proud of me as ever you could be, no matter what I chose to do. So please, be proud now. You raised me to find what was right and to pursue it. I am doing that now.

“Please give my love to Malcolm, Morgan, and Murdoch, and Melina, too. Tell her to study hard when she gets to Hogwarts, and to take advantage of the opportunity to learn everything she can.

“There is one other thing that I must mention. It may be possible that although I do not return, another will. You will remember this person well, as I did not throw up on his shoes, as you had warned him I might, Mother. It is likely that in this event, he will feel some guilt that he was unable to bring me back with him. You must tell him that I did only what I had to do, and that, as I wished to ‘emulate him in every way,’ could not choose to do otherwise. Remind him, too, that I am a Gryffindor and a McGonagall, and we tend to be a bit headstrong; no one could have prevented me from coming after him and finding him, and no price would be too high to pay in order to accomplish that. I only hope that I was sufficiently successful in my task that he was able to return, even if without me. If I was successful in that regard, please tell him that my gratitude toward him is immeasurable and that some of my happiest memories include time spent with him.

“Do know that I love you all, although I may not say it often enough.

“With apologies,
“I remain your loving daughter,

“Minerva
“5 January 1945”

When he had finished it, Merwyn blinked hard. “Quite something, our Minnie-girl, isn’t she,” he said hoarsely.

“She certainly is. What do you think we should do?”

“Nothing. Put the letter away. Minerva probably forgot she’d written it, or she assumed that the Ministry destroyed it when she returned safely. She never told us anything about this . . . whatever this mission was that she couldn’t refuse. She would likely be upset that we received the letter. Perhaps at some point, when it’s not all quite so fresh, we could give it back to her. Or let her know that it was delivered to us, after all.”

“Well, at least this explains something of her mood when she was here.” Egeria gazed at her now-congealed eggs, not seeing them, but remembering that bitterly cold day earlier in the year when Minerva had Apparated in, with no explanation other than that she had been given some leave by the Ministry, and that she decided to take it and come to Scotland for a visit with her family. She had been home for Christmas recently, but it had been only a brief, two-day visit, so Merwyn and Egeria had been pleased to see her.

Minerva explained to them that she would need to leave for Ireland for a funeral and wake in two days. She would be travelling by Ministry-authorised Portkey in both directions. When Egeria asked whose funeral she would be attending, Minerva looked out the window at the steely Highland sky, pausing as if to collect herself, then told them that it was for an Auror who had been killed in the line of duty, her friend from Hogwarts, Carson Murphy.

Minerva had mentioned Carson several times in her letters home, both from Hogwarts and from London. Both Egeria and Merwyn were themselves shocked by the news, although they had never met the young man. Their daughter had been understandably quiet for the next few days, but her mood did not seem to lift when she returned from Ireland. If anything, she seemed more subdued. When Egeria had suggested that perhaps returning to work might be a good remedy for her grief, or that it would at least provide her with something to occupy her time, Minerva had let out a mirthless laugh and explained that the leave, and its length, were involuntary. She didn’t offer any further information; Merwyn and Egeria presumed that the Ministry had placed Minerva on some kind of bereavement leave. They did think it odd, since she was not kin to the dead boy.

The elder McGonagalls were further surprised when Albus Dumbledore Apparated to their home a few days later, looking for Minerva. Albus had apparently been unaware that Minerva had been placed on leave, and so had Apparated from London after having sought her out at the Ministry. They were ensconced in the library for over an hour; Merwyn came down the hall just in time to see his daughter flying out the front door, cloak half on, and the door to the library open to reveal Albus sitting in a wing chair, forehead cradled in his hands. Merwyn knocked lightly on the opened door and stepped into the library, greeting Albus softly. Deciding to stick to mundane matters, Merwyn didn't mention his daughter’s flight from the house, instead suggesting that, after Apparating first to London then back to Scotland, Albus might be fatigued. Merwyn invited him to join the family for their midday meal. Albus agreed, somewhat hesitantly, to stay for dinner, and, at Merwyn’s request, he went out into the windy grey day to find Minerva and tell her that the meal would be served soon.

Egeria remembered her response to Merwyn when he told her that he had sent Albus off to the cliffs to look for her. “Are you sure that was wise? And I don’t mean simply because you say she seemed upset.” Her husband had removed his glasses, kissed her forehead, and held her, then said, “It was the only thing to do, love, wise or not. Minerva’s not been herself – even more than usual, I mean. Dumbledore knew the boy, too, if that has anything to do with whatever is wrong. And at least she got out of the house. She’s been moping about so much, it was almost a pleasure to see her run out the door in a fury as she used to when she was small.”

Yes, Egeria thought, this letter certainly places those events in a new perspective. Odd, though, that she hadn’t mentioned Carson in the letter. Although the letter was cryptic, and the “anyone” whom Minerva would not leave behind could have referred to the Murphy boy as much as to Dumbledore. But it was Dumbledore whom Minerva had mentioned explicitly, if obliquely, and it was for him that she showed concern, gratitude, and affection. Egeria sighed. Without knowing more about what the mission was, it was futile to speculate on why Minerva might have written of certain things and yet not written of others. Perhaps Carson’s death was coincidental and unrelated to the mission; perhaps Minerva had already known that he was dead. If they were to proceed as Merwyn suggested, however, and not mention the letter to their daughter, any questions Egeria had would have to remain mysteries for now.

Note: I hope no one minded the reiteration of Minerva's letter; I thought it might be useful for refreshing memories. Hopefully, this little update will keep you going -- and perhaps evoke a bit of curiosity -- until the next update, which I hope will be up on Tuesday. (RL is being particularly "real" at the moment, if you know what I mean -- it won't be ignored!)

[Miss Q]

Thank you for this intriguing update!!! This story just gets better and better!

And I hope that the RL isn't to hard to deal with!!!!

M

[Hogwarts Duo]

Uh oh...for some reason I have a very bad feeling about Minerva running away from Albus. I'm guessing he told her about Carson or something along those lines. EEEK.

Hope real life doesn't keep you away for long. I actually look daily for these updates!!! And I know the other half of Hogwarts Duo is doing the same thing on the other website!!!

[MMADfan]

missq said:

Thank you for this intriguing update!!! This story just gets better and better!

And I hope that the RL isn't to hard to deal with!!!!

Thanks, Miss Q, for the encouragement (both on the story and for RL)! I'm glad you found the chapter intriguing. I hoped it would be!

hogwartsduo said:

Uh oh...for some reason I have a very bad feeling about Minerva running away from Albus. I'm guessing he told her about Carson or something along those lines. EEEK.

Hope real life doesn't keep you away for long. I actually look daily for these updates!!! And I know the other half of Hogwarts Duo is doing the same thing on the other website!!!

Don't worry too much -- after all, you know that they were on speaking terms, at the very least, during the years prior to Minerva's return to Hogwarts! On the other hand, you can't expect me to make it too easy for Our Couple to get together, can you? ;D We'll get to see the events of that day from another perspective soon!

You can tell your Other Half that the SH queue is backed up. There are two chapters sitting there waiting for initial validation, and three corrected chapters waiting to be moved out of the corrections queue to permanent validation (they are posted, however); I can't upload any more chapters into the queue since SH is not clearing the corrections queue very quickly. Apparently, it doesn't matter how promptly you make any corrections they ask for, they only clear the queue in the order in which the chapters enter it. This means that if I have three corrections and do them the day that they are requested, I have to sit and wait for everyone ahead of me to do their corrections, as well, before the chapter I corrected will move out of the "corrections queue." Since I've been consolidating certain chapters when submitting them to the moderated sites, many of them are longer than what I have posted here, however, if that is any consolation to your Other Half!

The Petulant Poetess only allows two chapters in the queue at once, and deliberately leaves a couple days between validating chapters in order to have the fic move back to the top of the "most recent" list more quickly. Nonetheless, even though only two chapters have made it through the queue there, I find it a friendly and reliable site. SH can be somewhat frustrating, both as a reader and a writer, I find, but it still has some of the best fics around, and is a generally nice community.

Anyhoo, that mini-rant over, please let your Other Half know that more chapters are on the way!

I'm hoping to get RL under better control this week. I'll let you know how that works! *lol*

-MMADfan

[elivania]

Very nice addition. can't wait for the next bit. *Eli*

[MMADfan]

Note: A full day earlier than I had expected to get this up. Hope it pleases!

Part XXXVII: A Lovely Sight to Behold

After Albus had said good night to Minerva and gone back upstairs to his suite, he poured himself another small glass of cognac. As he sipped it, sitting where he had when he had held Minerva, he felt a warmth flow through him that had nothing to do with the fine brandy. He was relieved and grateful that the evening had gone so well. He had been slightly concerned that Minerva would be upset with him for having engineered the evening as he had done, but he now felt it had been worth the risk. Minerva probably only would have been upset with him about it if she were unable to accept his apology. Given how distressed she had appeared at lunch, beneath her Glamour, Albus was glad that he had taken the opportunity to clarify to her that it was not she, but he, who was at fault. He was glad, of course, that she had apologised for her words, but only because it reassured him that she did hold him in some positive regard.

Albus glanced at the table. He had forgotten to give her the flowers he had chosen especially from the Hogwarts’ gardens and greenhouses that day. Perhaps he could bring them with him in the morning. Would that seem strange to her? he wondered. The little freshness Charm he had put on them earlier that afternoon wouldn’t preserve them indefinitely, but the bouquet would remain nice for at least a few weeks. He would decide in the morning. He certainly didn’t want to go over-the-top, after all. Minerva might feel uncomfortable with too much attention.

Taking another sip from his snifter, Albus thought how lovely it had been to sit with Minerva on the sofa and hold her, and how fetching she had looked in her frock. It was nice to see her wear something other than the severe teaching robes that she donned during the school year. Although she always looked lovely to him, of course. Still, this robe did not possess the high collar and neckline that most of her school robes had. With her hair up and just a few tendrils falling loosely, Albus could see the nape of her neck when he stood behind her, or when he had held her there on the sofa. Such a lovely sight to behold. Albus remembered the very first time that he had noticed the nape of her neck, and the memory of it was simultaneously pleasurable and uncomfortable. He sighed and put his empty snifter down on the side table.

Albus remembered the occasion as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He had never visited the memory in his Pensieve, nor had he deliberately called it to mind over the years to refresh his recollection of it. Yet it was there, crystal clear.

He had gone to Edinburgh on various errands, both his own and Hogwarts’, and was walking down McTavish Street, enjoying the bustle of the Saturday shoppers. Albus had almost finished the tasks he had set himself that hot July day, and after the stresses of the previous few months, he was allowing himself the leisure of a some window shopping; he was even contemplating sitting at an outdoor café, drinking a cup of tea, and watching life go by for a little while. There was a nice café just a bit further on, he remembered, just past the little children’s park and only a few doors down from his final stop for the day.

Albus began crossing the street diagonally in front of the children’s park when he saw the most enchanting sight. A young witch, wearing one of the mid-calf length robes that had become popular amongst young witches in the past few years, had just set a little curly-haired girl down on a bench outside the park and was bending to look at the girl’s knees. The witch was lovely: her black hair up, a few tendrils curling down the nape of her neck, which was lightly beaded with moisture from the warmth of the afternoon. As the witch bent, Albus admired her pretty neck and the lovely line of her jaw, but he could not see her face. The pale blue, lightweight summer robe outlined a lithe young figure, and the short hem afforded him a glimpse of a well-toned calf and a prettily-turned ankle. His observations were those of a moment only, but he felt a warmth and a slight frisson of pleasure pass through him. Albus chuckled to himself; he may be almost 102, but he could still appreciate a pretty young witch. His pleasure was cut short, however, when, as the witch stood, she turned slightly.

Albus felt physically ill in that moment. He could see her face: it was his student, Minerva McGonagall. How could he not have recognised her? He had been giving her Animagus lessons for almost a year and had come to know her well during the four preceding ones.

Albus had always looked upon his students as children, even those who were of age – after all, at his age, anyone under about fifty still seemed like a youngster. Albus had certainly never found one of his students attractive before; they were simply not in the category of potentially-attractive-witches, and it never would have occurred to him that they would ever even enter that category for him. Certainly, he had eyes, and he could see that some of the students were blessed with better looks than others; Albus could even see a coquettish first-year witch and think that her male classmates had better watch out in a few years or, alternatively, look at an innocent eleven year-old wizard with big puppy-dog eyes, and think, with a twinkle, ah, now that one will be a lady-killer when he’s a bit older! But any of these speculations were done with the same level of interest as those that he might make about their sense of humour, or their potential in Transfiguration, or whether their build might suit them for a particular position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They were children to be nurtured, guided, and protected.

Later that evening, after he had returned to Hogwarts, Albus wondered if he were becoming a “dirty old man,” but decided that if he were worried about such a thing, then it probably wasn’t the case. And he was somewhat relieved that he had felt sick as soon as he had realised who the young witch was. Not that Minerva wasn’t lovely, of course, but she was his student, and still a child, even if she were of age. Even if she weren’t his student, Albus reminded himself, there was no chance that such a young and pretty witch would have wanted anything to do with such an ancient creature as he, anyway – if she weren’t his student, it would only have allowed him to appreciate her femininity from a distance with impunity, which, as her teacher, Albus would not allow himself to do. The mere thought of such a thing disgusted him. And Albus couldn’t permit that, as they would be working closely together over the next several months. He would simply put it out of his mind, Albus decided. She was, after all, Minerva McGonagall, his protege. They had an established relationship. No need to change anything at all in his dealings with her.

When Minerva turned her face and he recognised her, he began, in his shock, to turn back to the side of the street whence he had just come. She saw him, however, as did the little girl whom he now realised was her young niece. When Minerva called a greeting and Melina hopped off the bench to run over to him, Albus could do nothing other than stop and speak with them.

“Professor Dumbledore! I was looking forward to seeing you again soon, but I hadn’t expected to see you today! Melina, stop pulling on the Professor’s arm! I’m sorry, Professor, but Melina has been lecturing me on my wand technique. Apparently my healing Charms are not up-to-snuff.” Minerva laughed lightly, and Albus wished he hadn’t just found her attractive, as her laughter was as lovely as the rest of her.

“So, Melina,” Albus had replied, trying to overcome the sense of nausea that still lingered whilst remaining polite, “are you teaching your Aunt Minerva how to use her wand? Perhaps I should have you come to Hogwarts and teach wand technique, if we haven’t been instructing her properly, hmm?”

Melina giggled. “She’s okay, Professor! She just doesn’t do healing Charms very well. I keep telling her she has to twist the tip of her wand just so,” Melina demonstrated with an imaginary wand, “at the very end of her flick if she wants the Charm to really work right.”

“Mother has been bringing Melina with her when she goes on her rounds. I hated it when I was Melina’s age, but it seems she has a more willing companion in Melina,” Minerva explained. “Now, however, Melina has become insufferable, always talking about healing Charms and medicinal potions.” Minerva ruffled the “insufferable” little witch’s hair affectionately.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Melina said carefully (she had only learned to pronounce his name correctly in the last year, and had to make sure that she didn’t revert to calling him “Dumblydore,” which always caused all the adults to laugh), “could you look at my knee? I want to make sure that Minerva did her Charm right. She won’t let me use her wand to do a simple diagnostic!” Melina complained dramatically; she had come to know and like Professor Dumbledore when he visited the Apothecary.

“Believe me, Professor; we don’t let Melina use our wands – not even your grandmother does, so don’t give me that look, Melina!”

Dumbledore chuckled. “I was actually about to get myself a cup of tea, and it’s a bit warm standing in the middle of the street like this. We could go over to the café and I could take a look at Melina’s knee and make sure that your healing spell was performed up to Hogwarts’ standards; how would that be, Melina?”

The little witch agreed happily, and took Dumbledore’s right hand in her left, then caught up Minerva’s left hand with her right. “This will be fun!” she said, swinging their arms. Melina did like attention, both giving and receiving it.

As they approached the café, Melina brought Albus and Minerva’s hands together, then let them go and ran ahead to find the “perfect table.” Both Albus and Minerva quickly dropped their hands to their sides.

“Are you all right, Professor? You look a little pale. I didn’t want to speak in front of Melina – she repeats everything she hears, you can’t stop her.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Dumbledore answered, somewhat more stiffly than was his wont, but not knowing what to say when the honest reply would have been, Oh, I’m fine, other than the fact that I just found myself lusting after a student more than eight decades my junior, and, by the way, that student was you, Miss McGonagall. And what a pity we can’t hold hands as innocently as Melina does. “It’s just rather warm, as I said.”

Minerva took his arm, a concerned look on her face. “Then you should be sitting down. You could get heat stroke. Have you a cooling charm on your robes?”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.”

“I think we should go back to Murdoch’s flat and not stop at the café if you are unwell, Professor. I know these last months, well, they have been difficult ones. You should probably sit in his nice cool sitting room and have your tea there.”

“I am fine, Minerva,” he replied somewhat sharply, “I am not in my dotage yet.” Albus almost bit his tongue after he uttered those last words.

Minerva was silent for a moment as they walked toward the table that Melina had apparently decided was perfect. Quietly, she said, “I never would suggest that you are, Professor. I am sorry. I was merely trying . . . .”

“No, I am sorry, my dear. You were very kind to offer. The heat has made me irritable, I’m afraid.”

Minerva smiled slightly at him as she took her seat. “No worries, Professor. It’s just me.”

“Ah, ‘just’ Mother McGonagall; I see.” Albus smiled at his protege. Melina was bouncing up and down in her seat, trying to get their attention, which she finally did. Albus declared her knee quite nicely Healed and then was regaled by the tale of how she had gotten injured when she had jumped from a rope at the top of something she called a “junglejim” and tried to land on the Charmed swing several feet away from – and below – her. She blamed a faulty Charm on the swing, of course.

Eventually, Melina was busy eating her fresh strawberry ice cream while Albus and Minerva drank their tea. Albus was afraid that there would be an awkward silence, since he didn’t know what to say. Minerva didn’t sense any awkwardness, though, and asked him what had brought him to Edinburgh. After telling her that he’d had errands, both business and personal, he added, “I might have seen you today, anyway, if we hadn’t met earlier. My last stop was to be at the Egidius Apothecary. I was unaware that you were in Edinburgh, however.”

“Yes, I came to visit for a few days before I have to return to . . . you know. Murdoch is quite happy to have a new person to amuse Melina for a while, and with Uncle Perrin spending less and less time at the Apothecary, Murdoch has become quite busy. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but I’m sure you’ll understand; he’s been letting the household matters slide a bit, and although mother and father sent him Quimpy to help out, I’m afraid that Quimpy doesn’t do well without any direction. Fwisky always told him exactly what to do and how to do it. Murdoch should have taken some time to train him. He’s a good little fellow; he just lacks initiative.”

“I assume we are speaking of a house-elf?” Albus asked. At her nod, he smiled. “I have known very few house-elves who actually possessed initiative – and most of those were rather disagreeable. Of course, the house-elf Matron must possess at least a modicum of initiative, but she requires the ability to plan more than anything else.”

“Hmm. In any case, I’m trying, in the little time I have here, to give Quimpy a schedule and to organise Murdoch’s life a bit better. I don’t think that he’s kept the household account books up-to-date since . . . well, for the last two or three years, although he’s a stickler for it at the Apothecary.”

Melina seemed to have been listening more intently to the adults’ conversation than it had appeared. “It’s okay, Auntie Min. You can talk about mum. I don’t remember her very well because nobody ever talks about her in front of me. I wish people would.” Melina looked at her aunt with a serious, preternaturally mature expression.

“I know we should. It’s a bad habit. We started avoiding talking about her so as not to cause any greater hurt to you or your daddy, and now we just forget that we can, and should, talk about her again.”

The three went on to discuss Melina’s mother and some of the amusing things that Minerva remembered about her. When they got up from the table, Albus insisted that he pay the tab, since it had been much more enjoyable to have tea in their company than on his own. They walked the few yards further to the Egidius Apothecary, where Murdoch was assisting a rather peculiar looking customer wearing a navy blue cowl and hood. On a hot day in July, such attire was an odd choice, even if one were particularly adept at cooling Charms. When Murdoch was finished, he came over to find that his only child was seriously explaining to the foremost Alchemist in Britain the relative merits of dried versus fresh hellebore leaves.

“I’m sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but it’s only me today, and that other customer had very particular needs. I hope Melina hasn’t been a bother to you,” said Murdoch politely.

“No, no, not at all. I am beginning to think, though, Minerva, that you might want to take Melina’s advice about your wand technique!” Albus chuckled gently. “Melina, my dear, that was an exposition most clear and concise. If you were one of my OWL-level students, I would give you an ‘Outstanding’ on it!”

Melina beamed and bounced on the balls of her feet.

“My father thinks that, between my mother and me, we are providing her with a far too narrow education. He jokes that when she gets to Hogwarts, she’ll be able to cure dragonpox but won’t know what a Lumos is!” Murdoch said, a broad grin on his face.

They all laughed at that, even Melina. Murdoch closed up the shop before assisting Dumbledore select the supplies he had come for. He invited him to stay for dinner with them, and Albus was about to decline, but was persuaded by Melina who begged him quite prettily. Minerva, too, looked pleased that he was joining them – something that he might not have expected from her five or six months ago. Albus still didn’t understand precisely what had caused Minerva’s suddenly distant behaviour last December and January, although he was sure it had something to do with her accident in the Transfiguration classroom. Fortunately, the phase had passed, and Minerva had returned to her Animagus studies and to their easy collegiality, never mentioning that anything might have been amiss. Any efforts Albus had made to broach the subject with her had been rebuffed, politely but thoroughly, and he finally decided it must simply be something that teenage girls go through.

In his Headmaster’s sitting room, fifteen years later, Albus rose from the settee and thought of how, despite the passing of years and all the myriad events that had occurred since that chance meeting in McTavish Street, he still found Minerva McGonagall a lovely and enticing young witch. Although perhaps he might now permit himself to admire her since she was no longer a child, Albus could not allow himself to appreciate her too much, he told himself. He could not allow his wholly irrational and highly annoying feelings for her damage their friendship. If he were to begin to behave too differently toward her, if Minerva were to guess the extent of his feelings . . . she would likely find him revolting and pathetic, just as he found himself revolting and pathetic on those rare occasions that he acknowledged the direction his feelings would lead him, if permitted.

As he passed by the table on his way to his bedroom, Albus paused to smell the bouquet he had gathered for her. Every witch likes flowers, right? Perhaps it wouldn’t be too much if he were to bring them with him in the morning, after all.

Note: I hope you enjoyed this little view from Albus's perspective. Let me know!

[Hogwarts Duo]

As always...another entertaining and enjoyable chapter, especially the part where Albus realizes he's attracted to Minerva and that he's not a dirty old man...haha.

I was a bit confused when I read this one after having read the earlier update this morning. I thought perhaps this update would be the continuation from the previous one and was surprised to find us back in present day with Albus reminiscing about the evening spent with Minerva then delving into his memories.

May I ask when we will get to the remainder of 'Minerva's running away' chapter???

Keep up the great work!
Ang

[elivania]

Very, very nice addition as usual. Just brilliant. I thoroughly enjoyed it very much. I loved the memory of Minerva and when DD first saw the nape of her neck. Really nice little tangent. I loved it.

And I think flowers in the morning would do very nicely! *Eli*

[MMADfan]

hogwartsduo said:

I was a bit confused when I read this one after having read the earlier update this morning. I thought perhaps this update would be the continuation from the previous one and was surprised to find us back in present day with Albus reminiscing about the evening spent with Minerva then delving into his memories.

May I ask when we will get to the remainder of 'Minerva's running away' chapter???

I'm quoting you out of order, about my out of order posting! That little snippet that I posted earlier (the breakfast scene) was originally going to wait to be posted until I had its counterparts completed. However, I realised that it actually has a few different "counterpart" scenes, and would need to be posted before any of them. I was going to hold off posting them until I reached that point in the story (which is, I believe, four segments off -- though it may be five or six actual updates). However, since I had it written already and hadn't posted anything in a few days, I thought it wouldn't matter much if I posted it a bit early. Hope you don't mind much! (These are the convoluted thought patterns of a MMAD-fanatical mind!)

hogwartsduo said:

As always...another entertaining and enjoyable chapter, especially the part where Albus realizes he's attracted to Minerva and that he's not a dirty old man...haha.

Glad you liked that bit! Did you catch where he got irritated at Minerva's fussing at him and said he wasn't "in [his] dotage yet"? He's feeling a bit sensitive there, methinks! LOL

hogwartsduo said:

Keep up the great work!

I shall try to! Thanks again for the review!

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

Very, very nice addition as usual. Just brilliant. I thoroughly enjoyed it very much. I loved the memory of Minerva and when DD first saw the nape of her neck. Really nice little tangent. I loved it.

And I think flowers in the morning would do very nicely! *Eli*

Thanks, Eli! That scene has been waiting even more patiently than Blampa! It has been floating around, untethered to any chapter, from the beginning of the story. It only took about 104,000 words before it was finally able to take its rightful place!

I think it was becoming pretty clear even early on in the story that our Albus was more than a little fond of Minerva, but I wanted to wait until more of her back story was established to introduce the moment when he first realised he was attracted to her. Not to mention why he would find it appalling.

Thanks again for your reviews! They are very encouraging!

[Alesia]

Just a note to let you know I am still reading and enjoying it very much.

One small suggestion though, in the latest update it is hard for the reader to determine at what point in their friendship Albus is remembering. I thought initially it was after she rescued him, but then I realized she had probably just left Hogwarts, when in actuality you reveal at the conclusion that it isn't long after her first transformation. I think I assumed that Albus would also think of her as his student even after she left Hogwarts so his angst over lusting after one of his students didn't really tell me she was still attending Hogwarts.

I would use a quick drop line when he realizes it is Minerva like: She will be stilling in his NEWT level class in a few months. Or something to that affect to tell the reader exactly when in the story this is.

[MMADfan]

alesia said:

Just a note to let you know I am still reading and enjoying it very much.

One small suggestion though, in the latest update it is hard for the reader to determine at what point in their friendship Albus is remembering.

Actually, that is exactly what I had intended -- it was meant to be ambiguous to the reader. In fact, I went through and took out a couple of things that would have pinpointed the date more precisely. Other than Melina's obviously young age (not quite 6), I tried to remove all references that would make it clear when it was that he had seen her in McT Street. I see that it did work, although I am sorry that it was not perhaps as curiosity-inducing as I had hoped, but was perhaps only confusing. Still, the confusion only lasts a paragraph until you find out that it is right after her sixth year (one year of Animagus training + 4 prior years), so even though I'll re-read the paragraph and think about it again, I may not change it. Part of it was that I wanted to present it from his point-of-view: he believed he was seeing a young woman when he appreciated Minerva's "feminine assets"; it was a shock to him to realise the the fully-grown witch he thought he'd seen was actually still one of his students. I think if we know before Albus sees her exactly when it was (although you could figure it out easily from his reference that he's 102 -- which is 15 years younger than he is in the "present day"), we wouldn't share in his surprise quite so much. As soon as he recognises that it's Minerva, we learn that she is still his student.

I don't know if I achieved what I wished by presenting the scene that way, but it was intentional, at any rate, that her age not be completely revealed until the point at which he recognizes her.

Thanks for the review, and for thinking so much about the fic. I appreciate the commments. No doubt they'll help me in the future when I'm trying to figure out how to surprise the reader without confusing them too much along the way!

[Trulyamused]

Excellent parts.

I'm really looking forward to the next updates.

Truly

[MMADfan]

Note: I hope you enjoy this installment, and are still following the story. We are back with Minerva after her dinner with Albus in the Headmaster's suite, but we also take a peek at another of Minerva's memories from her sixth year. Unfortunately, the text exceeds the maximum allowable, so this installment is posted in two chunks.

Part XXXVIII: Pleasurable Anticipation

Minerva returned to her rooms from Albus’s office that evening feeling more lighthearted than she had in a long time. Nonetheless, a vague unease lingered; she knew it would not dissipate until she dealt with a subject that she had been avoiding for years. She would put it off just a little longer, Minerva decided, and allow herself to simply enjoy looking forward to breakfast with Albus.

“Blampa,” Minerva called as she removed her overrobe and entered her bedroom. The house-elf popped in as Minerva began taking the Charmed hairpins from her hair and placing them on her vanity. “Blampa, tomorrow morning, the Headmaster will be joining me for breakfast at eight o’clock. I will arrange the furniture in the sitting room myself, but I would like you to make sure that there is a very special breakfast for us. I know that I would like fresh strawberries, some of the ones that Hagrid has been growing, soft-boiled eggs, and toast. And tea, of course. I will leave the rest of the menu to you.” Watching Blampa bounce with joy, Minerva thought that a precaution might be called for. “And although I leave the other dishes to you, please keep in mind that sometimes less is more, Blampa. I would like an elegant meal for the Headmaster, not a feeding trough with every imaginable breakfast food under the sun.”

“Oh, Professor Minerva! Blampa would never use a feeding trough! They’s for pigs!”

Minerva smiled. “I didn’t mean that literally, Blampa. What I meant was that I want a few very nice, delectable selections. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor Minerva! I, Blampa, will have lovely breakfast for Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster. Yes, yes! Blampa understands!” Blampa beamed so widely, Minerva thought her pale little face would split in two.

“All right, then, Blampa. Please see me at seven-thirty so that we can discuss the arrangements.”

“Yes, ma’am, Professor Minerva! Arrangements at seven-thirty!”

Minerva dismissed Blampa, wondering if she should have admonished her not to include ginger newts with breakfast. Working with this house-elf was exhausting. Her Grandfather McGonagall’s parents were both Muggle-born, and he never became comfortable with his pure-blooded Tyree wife’s house-elves. Minerva remembered Grandmother Siofra chuckling and saying how her Grandfather McGonagall always believed that house-elves had a bad effect on wizarding families. The house-elves always did so much for them that they could hardly remember how to Accio their own drinking cups anymore, he would claim, and heaven forbid someone should ask one of them to light their own lamps! Whilst Minerva’s feelings on the subject were not as strong as her grandfather’s, she did think that the wizarding world might be better off if the whole house-elf system were radically changed. She was aware that house-elf magic was at least as strong as wizarding magic; surely it could be put to better use than cooking, cleaning, and taking care of wizarding babies!

Minerva hummed as she undressed and got ready for bed. Although just a half an hour earlier she had been yawning, Minerva now felt quite awake. Perhaps she shouldn’t have had the coffee after her nap. Minerva brushed out her hair, braided it, and put on a fresh white batiste nightgown. In her concession to the arrival of summer, the nightgown had a low, lace-trimmed neckline, but because the nights were still cool, the sleeves were long. Minerva wondered if they would have a warm summer that year. She seemed to remember that the summer she had spent at the castle between her sixth- and seventh-year, it had been rather warm, even at night.

Minerva opened her bedroom window a little wider, then doused the lamps with a wave of her wand. Lying in bed, listening to the sounds of the night drifting in on the cool breeze, Minerva smiled as she remembered that summer. A part of her had been somewhat reluctant to continue with the warding project that she had agreed to months before, but not only had she promised Professor Dumbledore that she would help him with the wards, but she also truly believed that it was an important task. Who knew what Fate might bring to some future generation? Her participation in repairing the wards might one day prove vital to the safety of Hogwarts and its students. So, showing not a hint of reluctance, she had agreed to Professor Dumbledore’s proposal that she return to Hogwarts the second week in July and remain until the last week of August, when she could spend the remainder of her holiday as she wished.

“I wish that the school could provide you with proper compensation for your work, Minerva, but as you are supposedly going to be here in order to receive special tutoring in Transfiguration, it would be difficult to put you on the Hogwarts payroll. I would, however, like to provide you with a stipend myself, so that you have some spending money during the time you are here.”

Minerva protested, “That’s not necessary, Professor. I would feel very awkward accepting any money from you. When I agreed to help you, I did so without any expectation that I would receive anything in return. In fact, I am sure that I will learn a lot, and that is a more-than-fair trade.”

“Apprentices receive an allowance or stipend, though, Miss McGonagall. It would be entirely fair and proper for you to accept at least a nominal sum. After all, the school and I will both be benefiting from your assistance.”

In the end, Professor Dumbledore had persuaded Minerva to accept a “nominal sum” of two Galleons per week while she was in residence at the castle. It was the first money she had ever earned, which pleased her, but she still felt awkward taking it. Finally, Minerva gave herself a little lecture and told herself that it was good for her to accept it since it would help her to see her relationship with her professor in business terms. That could only be a good thing. It might help her to overcome, or at least survive, the feelings for him that had not disappeared since that awful grey day in early December when she had her accident in the Transfiguration classroom.

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Part XXXVIII: Pleasurable Anticipation, continued

Professor Dumbledore had become alarmed when, instead of recovering within a few minutes of regaining consciousness after her magical accident, Minerva had begun weeping desperately into his chest. He had called Wilspy, whom he sent to the infirmary to inform the matron that he was bringing a student to see her. Minerva had been barely aware of the house-elf’s arrival and her professor’s instructions to her. After Wilspy left, Minerva felt Albus lift her into his arms and stand.

“There, there, now, Minerva. I am going to take you to the infirmary. Don’t worry, my dear, I shan’t let go of you until we are there. And a little Disillusionment Charm and taking the backstairs will get us there a little more easily.” Minerva felt the cold Disillusionment Charm run over her and then heard him utter a Notice-Me-Not Charm. “Now, you may know that the fire in my office is not on the internal Floo-Network – a deficiency that I will correct – so I will have to carry you all the way. Professor Gamp’s office is closer than the infirmary, and she is on the Floo-Network, so we are going there first, all right, my dear?”

Minerva could not nod or shake her head, nor agree or disagree with his proposal. She continued to weep against him as he carried her down the corridor, up a set of stairs, and then to Professor Gamp’s office. Professor Gamp was not there, but Dumbledore let himself in.

“Now, my dear, I need to make a little fire and get some Floo-Powder. May I put you down in this chair then?” Minerva made no response and did not loosen her grip on his robes, nor turn her face from where it was nestled in his beard. “No? Well then, we shall both sit, since otherwise I might drop you! No need for a concussion, as well . . . .” Albus lowered himself into a little chair beside Gamp’s fireplace, holding Minerva on his lap, and found his wand. “There we are. Now a little fire. I’m going to stand up again, Minerva, and we’ll be going through the Floo to the infirmary. Madam Valentius will have a look at you. You will feel much better soon, I’m sure.” He Summoned the little crock of Floo-Powder from the mantel and took a pinch of it before sending it back to its place. Lifting Minerva carefully, he stood, tossed the Floo-Powder into the fire, and stepped into it, saying, “Hospital wing!”

By the time Albus had carried her the length of the infirmary to one of the smaller private rooms, Minerva had stopped crying. She would not release her hold on him, however. She could hear the Matron come huffing into the room as her professor was trying to lay her down on the bed. Minerva did not know why she wouldn’t let go, really. It was partly shame. If she were to let go, she would have to look at him. She would have to meet his eyes. Even if he had no clue what she had been thinking, she was utterly embarrassed. Letting him go would also mean a complete return to the reality in which she was just Minerva McGonagall, sixth-year Gryffindor, and he was Albus Dumbledore, the esteemed Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts.

“Professor Dumbledore! Your house-elf told me you were bringing in a student. I had to run up from the greenhouses, or I would have met you,” the stout matron panted. “Now who have you got there? Just put her down on the bed.”

“It seems that she does not understand what’s going on, Madam Valentius. I cannot get her to let go of my robes so that I can put her down. I have tried,” Albus spoke softly. “It’s Minerva McGonagall. She’s had an accident. I think it was just magical syncope, but after she regained consciousness, she began to cry and wouldn’t let me go. She only just stopped crying a few minutes ago. I have been worried.”

“Well, if you’ve been holding her like that the whole time, you must be getting tired! Here, Miss McGonagall, let go of Professor Dumbledore,” she said loudly. “You are in the infirmary now. No need for concern. I need to check you over, Miss McGonagall.” When Minerva made no movement to show that she heard and understood the matron’s directions, Madam Valentius decided on a different course. “You’ll just have to hold on to her while I do the initial examination, Professor. Just have a seat on the bed. No not on the edge, man! Lean back against the pillows with her. We need to get her to relax. Hopefully once I’ve performed the initial examination, she’ll return to her senses and lie back on her own. If she still clings to you like that after I’m done, we can give her a Calming Potion. Magical syncope can have some very odd effects, I remember from my studies, although I haven’t run across them, myself. Were you there at the time?”

Dumbledore, reclining in the narrow hospital bed, one arm still around Minerva, replied, “Yes, I had just arrived. I think it was that which triggered the episode. She was doing an internal magical exercise, although I haven’t been able to ask her which one it was. As I came through the door, she moved as if she were about to stand, but I don’t think that she had ended her meditation yet and instead of standing, she fell to the floor. I was not fast enough to stop the fall nor close enough to catch her.”

The mediwitch had her wand out and had begun passing it over Minerva’s head. “Did you notice if she hit her head when she fell?”

“No, although she must have. She seemed fine at first, a little groggy, perhaps, but she followed my directions when I told her to look at me and not fall asleep. But then, well, you can see . . . .”

“You’ll have to let her go now, Professor.”

“Hmm? Oh, right.” Albus let his arm drop to his side.

Minerva was still leaning against him, fists holding onto his robes, face buried in his beard. She was thinking more clearly now, but that was worse than her previous muddled state-of-mind. She could feel the diagnostic spells tingle against her. Minerva sighed heavily.

“Miss McGonagall, you will be fine,” she heard the matron saying to her, “but I am going to give you a Calming Draught to help you along. Although I’m sure that Professor Dumbledore is a man of great patience and understanding, in order to do a thorough exam, I’ll need you to feel comfortable enough to let go of him; I’d prefer to do the examination sooner rather than later. The potion will help you feel more comfortable. I’m going to fetch it now; I’ll be back in two shakes.” Turning to Dumbledore, she said, “It might help if you talk to her. I think she just had something of a shock and will be fine. She needs to feel secure, I think, which is why she won’t let you go.”

Minerva heard the matron leave the room and close the door behind her. She was suddenly very aware that she was lying on a bed with Professor Dumbledore. Not only with him, but practically on top of him. Her legs were stretched out beside his, but she hadn’t moved her head since he had picked her up in the classroom. She could still hear his heartbeat and feel his magic flowing through him, pulsing in time with his heart. Although this awareness sparked a slight physical thrill, it also made her even more embarrassed. She turned her face slightly and blinked against the suden lamplight. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she whispered.

“Ah, Minerva! No need to be sorry. You had an accident, a shock, Madam Valentius says. Are you feeling a bit better, my dear?”

Minerva nodded and loosened her grip on his robes. “I have a terrible headache, and if anyone ever died of embarrassment, I’d have a fatal case right now,” she said.

Albus smoothed her hair away from her face. “Everyone has accidents, Minerva, and everyone sheds a tear or two occasionally. You needn’t be embarrassed.”

Minerva finally let go and pushed away from him. New tears sprang to her eyes as she left his warmth. Albus stood and helped Minerva lie back against the pillows.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“Do you want to talk about what happened? I am very sorry that I entered when I did, Minerva, and caused your accident.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Professor. It just happened. You couldn’t have prevented it.” Minerva eyes were closed. She did have a terrible headache, and the lights did seem bright, but she also couldn’t bear to look at him yet. “I’m sorry I cried all over you. I probably made a mess of your beard and your robes.”

“A little salt water won’t hurt, I’m sure, my dear. Do not concern yourself.”

Madam Valentius returned with the Calming Potion. “So our patient is feeling more like herself? You may still want the Calming Draught, though.” At Minerva’s nod, the matron helped her swallow the contents of a small vial.

Albus had stood and moved away from the bed when the matron returned. “She said she has a bad headache, Madam Valentius.”

“I shouldn’t wonder. I have a headache potion, as well, but I want to wait to give her that one. If you would like, Professor Dumbledore, you may wait in the infirmary whilst I perform the examination. If not, I can let you know later how she is.”

“I’ll wait.”

Minerva heard the door close behind her professor, and she cautiously opened her eyes.

“Lights a bit bright? I’ll dim them a little for you, then. I took a quick look at your records, Miss McGonagall. You seem to be quite healthy, from what they say. You should recover quite well, so not to worry.” The matron proceeded with various tests, at one point taking hold of her wrist and holding it, fingers at Minerva’s pulse point. “There’s still nothing like actually feeling a patient’s pulse and magical flow, that’s what I say,” she declared as she let go of Minerva’s wrist. “I’d like you to stay overnight. There is a gown in the drawer of the bedside stand that you may wear. Do you feel up to standing and putting it on yourself, or would you like my help?” At Minerva’s assurance that she could get herself ready for bed, the matron continued, “I think that Professor Dumbledore was correct. You had a case of magical syncope, but it was complicated by whatever exercise you were doing. From the tests that I ran, it appears that you were magically and emotionally open, and the syncope allowed a sudden fluctuation of both. There must have been an environmental trigger, as well, that determined the particular manifestation of these emotions.”

“So the feelings came from somewhere outside of me?” asked Minerva.

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. There was a void, a vacuum, created by your exercise, and the feelings that rushed in to fill it were likely triggered by something environmental, something external, but the feelings were not foreign; they came from within you, Miss McGonagall.”

“And you said something about being magically open, too?”

“Yes; that is one reason you were unable to return to your senses as quickly as you might otherwise have. You were open to magical exhaustion because of the severity of the syncope; however, because of the protective wards that Hogwarts has, the magical drain was . . . how to put this . . . the magical drain was staunched. Hogwarts could not prevent your syncope, obviously, but, from what I understand, the wards use the intense magical field of the castle to ensure that students do not suffer the effects of a magical drain as much as they would if they were elsewhere. Of course, I’m new here, and I’m not particularly familiar with this kind of thing, but I understand that your Professor Dumbledore is an expert on it. He could probably explain the wards better than I. It is curious, however . . .” Madam Valentius hesitated. “I probably just misunderstood when it was explained to me, but I thought the protection of those wards only extended to underage students, and I saw from your records that you are of age.”

After Minerva had asked a few more questions and been reassured that she could join her House for breakfast in the morning if she felt up to it, the matron left. Minerva lay back, somewhat drowsy from the headache potion and the Calming Draught. She could hear Dumbledore’s voice rumble as he spoke with Madam Valentius. He had been so understanding. How could she ever look at him again? She wasn’t sure she could continue her training. How could she? The thought of abandoning her Animagus training pained her. She wouldn’t worry about that until tomorrow. Maybe It would go away on Its own, if It were just an after effect of her accident. Of course, there was still her sense of shame, but since Professor Dumbledore didn’t know of everything that embarrassed her, she might be able to overcome that.

Just as she was coming to those conclusions, Minerva heard the door open again. It was Professor Dumbledore.

“Minerva?” he called quietly.

“Yes, Professor, I’m awake.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

“Madam Valentius said that you will be fine and we will probably be seeing you at breakfast in the morning.”

“I hope so.”

“I will stop by the Tower and let your roommates know that you are spending the night here so that they do not worry about you.” Dumbledore stepped closer to the bed. “The matron told me what she believes happened. I am more sorry than ever, Minerva. If I have ever done anything that could have caused you such grief – ”

“It wasn’t you, sir. Believe me. It wasn’t you. I really don’t want to talk about it now, but I will tell you truthfully, sir, that you have never done anything to cause me any grief.” Minerva felt a lump in her throat. Only his very being. Only knowing him. He himself did nothing, nothing except be himself. He could not be faulted for that.

“I was glad to hear from her that you were protected from a magical drain. Not that you couldn’t have recovered from it, of course, particularly as your magic has been matured for a year or two now, but it is very uncomfortable – I speak from experience.”

“She thought it was the Hogwarts wards, but said she might be wrong about that, Professor. She said you would know better than she.” Minerva really didn’t want to discuss anything related to her accident, so she did not ask him about it.

“Yes, she said that to me, as well,” replied Dumbledore. “Well, it has been a long evening for both of us. Madam Valentius said she would have a snack sent to you and you should eat it before you go to sleep. I am feeling rather peckish, myself, so I think I will have a bite to eat and retire early – unless you need something, my dear?”

“No, nothing. Thank you, sir. Good night.” Minerva thought he was looking tired, but carrying a full-grown witch all over the castle was bound to be tiring. “Sir?” Minerva said, and Albus turned in the doorway. “Thank you for bringing me to the hospital wing . . . and everything else.” She blushed.

“Of course, Minerva. Good night, my dear. Sleep well – and be sure to eat your snack!”

The next morning, Minerva had felt physically recovered, but over the next days and weeks, she was emotionally labile. The intervening holidays gave her an excuse to take a break in her Animagus training.

That excuse could not last. After the new term began in January, Professor Dumbledore had her stay after class one day.

“Minerva, tomorrow is Friday. Should I expect you for your tutorial?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, Professor.” Minerva didn’t know if she had ever lied to her professor before.

“I know that the accident was traumatic for you, Minerva, even though it had no lasting physical or magical consequences. I understand that. But the Muggles have a saying that if you fall off your horse, you have to get right back in the saddle again. I thought that by giving you time last month to recover and not asking that you continue lessons before Christmas, I was doing you a favour. I now believe that may have been the wrong thing to do. Perhaps I should have insisted that you pick it up again immediately. I believed you would come to me when you were ready to resume, but you’ve been back from holiday for almost two weeks, and you have not come to see me.”

“I’m sorry, Professor.” Minerva did not know what else to say. She had been avoiding him. She arrived at class with just a minute to spare, and as soon as the bells chimed and the class was over, she was the first out of her seat, heading toward the door. Although Minerva no longer felt the acute anguish that had initially assaulted her as she lay weeping in her professor’s arms, she could not shake her embarrassment and shame. Worse yet, her intense desire and longing for her professor refused to die. Sitting in his class, listening to his voice, feeling his magic brush past her if he walked by her, all of those things brought a rush of blood to a place where it shouldn’t be. Minerva was glad that she had already mastered the topics being covered in class; it was very difficult to pay proper attention under those conditions. Even seeing Professor Dumbledore sitting up at the staff table during meals could bring a warm tingle rushing over her. How could she possibly concentrate on her Animagus training when it was so hard even to be in the same room with him?

Despite her reservations, Minerva agreed to attend her Friday tutorial the next day. As she was about to leave the Transfiguration classroom, Professor Dumbledore called to her.

“Minerva, if after a few weeks, you do not want to continue with your training, please feel free to make that choice. I simply do not wish to see you quit without trying to overcome your fears first. I think you would regret it. If you change your mind about wanting to become an Animagus, I would prefer it done of your own free will, just as the decision to take it on was your own. Do you understand, Minerva? I am not insisting simply because I want to force this on you – I want you to be in a position to make a genuine choice, my dear.”

“Yes, Professor. I appreciate that.”

“You know, my dear, if you ever want to discuss what happened or how you feel about it, I will be very glad to listen.”

“Thank you, sir; I will remember that.”

Albus tried over the ensuing weeks to get her to talk about whatever was disturbing her, but Minerva became adept at changing the subject. She could tell that he was bothered by the fact that she never studied in the classroom anymore, nor did she use it to practice her Animagus exercises; she didn’t rush in and out of class as she had in the first weeks after her accident, but she didn’t linger, either. There were no more biscuits and milk, no more debates about Transfiguration theory, no more meals “chez Albus.” Minerva could not bring herself even to smile at him, and when he smiled at her, she felt her heart would break.

Minerva eventually decided that depriving herself of what she could have was no cure for the heart-breaking deprivation of what she could not have, and she gradually began to interact with her mentor much as she had when she had begun her Animagus training. When Carson Murphy invited her to the St. Valentine’s Day Dance, she accepted with alacrity, sure that a relationship with the handsome Ravenclaw would help her regain her comfort in Professor Dumbledore’s presence.

Nonetheless, when, early in March, Professor Dumbledore invited Minerva to address him by his given name when they were working alone together, she politely declined. He had accepted her answer, but Minerva had thought he had been disappointed. She would just have to disappoint him. She could not allow herself to develop any illusions about the nature of their relationship. It was for the best.

Fifteen years later, Minerva turned in bed to face the window and feel the cool night breeze wash over her face. Yes, she would be professional with Albus. But there was no reason to cut off an opportunity for friendship with him. Their dinner tonight, the lovely dinner that Albus had so craftily arranged, that had shown her that she was important to him. He said they were friends, “friends before all else.” Minerva could not throw away a friendship with him simply because she had her own troublesome feelings to deal with. Even if she could deprive herself of his friendship, it would not be fair to Albus, especially after he had been so generous and understanding. No, she would have to figure out how to deal with her feelings, snuff them out or lock them away, without destroying their friendship. She would need to take time to think about it, but for now, she would just go to sleep looking forward to their breakfast with pleasurable anticipation.

I hope you enjoyed this little bit of MMAD-ness!

[elivania]

I read this last night, but it was so late that I couldn't stay awake long enough to right the review. So here it is:

Amazing. I love the detail about the 6th year incident. Awsome. I can't wait until the next part.

[MMADfan]

Note: Here's a short installment that I hope you will enjoy. It's the first of two parts, and "A Bright Morning, Two" will be posted in a day or so.

Part XXXIX: A Bright Morning, One

Albus woke early the next morning. He broke from his normal routine – which generally consisted of him feeling about for his fuzzy slippers, groping for his dressing gown, then shuffling half-asleep into the bathroom, where he would splash his face with cold water before flopping onto a bench in the bathroom and calling for Wilspy, who would appear with a cup of strong tea, milk and sugar already added – that morning, however, Albus stretched in bed, luxuriating in the sense of contentment to which he awoke, then waved a hand to draw back the heavy draperies, rolled out of bed, and padded barefoot over to the open window. It was a gorgeous midsummer’s day. The sun had risen, but dew still sparkled on the grassy slope that led down to the lake. A slight mist still rose off the water, but any early morning fog had already dissipated, leaving the breeze cool and fresh. Albus took a great lungful of air. Marvellous! He grinned.

“Wilspy!”

The dignified house-elf appeared, cup of tea at the ready. Wilspy glanced at the Headmaster’s unshod feet, and if she also noticed a cheerful alertness uncharacteristic for that hour of the morning, she said nothing.

“Thank you, Wilspy,” said Dumbledore as he took the teacup from her. “I will be taking breakfast with Professor McGonagall this morning, so this one cup will suffice.” During the summer, Wilspy usually brought him a tray with his breakfast and a fresh pot of tea once he had shaken the cobwebs from his head, as he sometimes put it.

“Very good, Professor, sir. Do you require anything else?”

“No, that will be all for now. Thank you!”

After the house-elf popped out of his bedroom, Albus made a quick visit to the loo before bringing his tea with him into the bathroom. A shower that morning, rather than a bath; he didn’t want to fall asleep in the tub and be late for breakfast! As he pulled off his nightshirt, Albus suddenly remembered his brother’s potion. He had been going to condition his beard that morning. Albus sighed. He did not like disappointing anyone. It was seven o'clock already. Ah, well. He should have planned his day better – or gotten up earlier. He stepped into his cylindrical shower stall and closed the door behind him.

Scrubbing himself with a loofah and his favourite Muggle sandalwood soap, water jetting against his body from all sides, Albus thought of his dinner with Minerva the evening before. He had not believed he would be able to fall asleep last night, he had been so elated. But as soon as his head hit the pillow, he’d drifted off. The evening had been a success, and the time he had spent the previous day determining what was bothering Minerva and then preparing for their dinner had been well worth it. He would have to work through a thick pile of parchments that afternoon, not to mention reschedule his Floo-conference with the Minister for International Magical Cooperation, but now Albus felt he could proceed with a clear conscious and a light heart.

He was glad that Minerva had seemed so happy when she left last night. Albus smiled, remembering how nice it had been to hold her in his arms and comfort her. She had smelled lovely, too, like lavender and rosemary, and something else he couldn’t identify. He didn’t think he had ever held Minerva for so long before; there was, of course, the time that she collapsed in his classroom when she was a student, but that hardly counted. He had cared for her, of course; even then she was probably dearer to him than anyone had been in many, many years, but the nature of his affection for her had changed considerably since that time. . . . She had lain beside him in that filthy little hole in France, too, but that occasion certainly didn’t count, either.

Albus began to lather his hair and beard with a shampoo of his own devising and sighed happily. Yes, cradling Minerva in his arms last night had been heavenly. The way she had leaned against his chest and placed her hand on his shoulder; he had loved the feel of her weight against him, her soft, gentle curves. . . . He doubted he would be that close to her again for a long while. After all, he could not very well wish any pain or grief on her just to give himself the opportunity to embrace her.

Albus felt slightly disgusted with himself. He was behaving like a dirty old man, he thought; he had held Minerva not for his pleasure, but in order to provide her with support! She trusted him! He should simply be grateful that she had allowed him to comfort her that way. As she had stated the previous night, Minerva did not usually wear her feelings openly, and although he knew her to be a warm-hearted, generous person, she was reserved in her expression of physical affection. He was very fortunate, indeed.

Despite his self-admonishment, with the warm jets of water pounding against his body, the thought of holding Minerva became too arousing for the wizard. Gritting his teeth against the anticipated onslaught, Albus waved a hand, and the water turned icy cold. He shivered and turned blue as he rinsed shampoo from his long hair and beard. Served him right for thinking such things . . . .

Dried and warmer, Albus brushed out his hair and beard, then dressed with care. He did not want to be seen to be going to a special effort, but . . . he wanted to go to a special effort. He dismissed his silver robes as not only being too dressy but also too heavy for the season. In the end, after practically emptying his wardrobe, Albus chose sky blue robes. As was his habit, although he dressed traditionally and forewent undergarments, Albus layered one robe over another. In the winter, against the castle’s chill, he would often wear a long thermally-charmed undershirt, or sometimes even a Muggle union suit, under his robes. During the summer, however, he either wore a thin sleeveless shirt that reached his knees, rather like a long undershirt, under his robes, or nothing at all. In his “Muggle drawer,” of course, he had a supply of Muggle underwear to wear with Muggle trousers. He should recommend them to Garbhan; perhaps his aversion to trousers would diminish if he had some protection against them for his “bits,” as the boys might say.

After dressing, Albus opened his wardrobe to look at himself in the full length mirror on the inside of the door.

“Very smart, indeed, Headmaster!” flattered the mirror with a girlish giggle. Albus ignored it. He would judge for himself.

The first robe was a new one of deep sky blue silk. It had silver embroidery around the cuffs, the high band collar, and down the front placket, extending all the way to the hem, which was likewise embroidered. Small silvery buttons closed the robe from the ankle to his breastbone, although many of them were hidden by his beard, as was the open collar. The broad yoke was outlined by a discreet line of feathery embroidery along the chest, across the shoulders, and around the seams in back. The sleeves, while not fitting tightly to the arm, were straight and extended to his wrists. The robe itself barely skimmed his body, although it flared first just beneath the hips and then again at the knee, in order to facilitate his stride. Albus had wondered when he had picked it up from Madam Malkin’s after his second fitting whether she had tailored it too closely to his body and whether it was not a style better suited to a younger wizard, but she had assured him that he looked quite fine and that the cut suited his build.

The loose outer robe that Albus chose was a slightly paler shade of sky blue, and light, puffy clouds drifted slowly over its surface. Albus had altered the Charm after Gertie had told him that the clouds moved so fast they were distracting, so if he wanted people to pay attention to him rather than to his animated robes, he should do something about it. Now, Albus thought, the clouds floated quite pleasantly across the sky blue fabric. The sleeves on this garment were three-quarter length and somewhat wider than those of the under-robe. The hem was likewise higher, ending at mid-calf in back and at the knee in front. Although the front of the robe had invisible hooks from mid-chest to the thigh, Albus elected to keep them unfastened. The wide, silver-embroidered band collar of his under-robe peeked over the neckline of the collarless outer garment.

After a critical examination, Albus decided there was still something missing, and he rummaged through the various belts and cummerbunds hanging in the back of his wardrobe. Pulling out two, a thin silver belt and a wider cummerbund the same blue as his under-robe, Albus tried each on around the solid blue robe. He sighed. He could stand there all morning trying on different clothes. He could not be late. Still . . . he cinched the silver belt around both robes. Not bad, but it seemed to make his over-robe puff out around him like a mushroom. He removed it, fastened the cummerbund around his waist over the solid-coloured robe, left the outer robe to its own devices, and decided that would have to do.

It was almost ten minutes before eight, and he still hadn’t chosen any shoes or socks! Albus snatched up a pair of thin silver socks. Pulling the socks up over his calves, he Accio’d his silver boots, decided they looked ridiculous, and Summoned his light, pale grey suede shoes, instead. Albus rushed out the door and was half-way down the stairs to his office when he remembered the flowers; he raced back up, grabbed the bouquet, vase and all, and hurried back down the stairs.

By taking every short-cut available to a Headmaster, Albus arrived at Minerva’s door, only somewhat out-of-breath, at precisely eight o’clock. He rapped on the picture frame and watched as the knight in the portrait disappeared to fetch his mistress. Albus managed to catch his breath as he waited. He wondered once more whether giving Minerva the flowers, especially vase and all, was a bad idea. Albus didn’t have long to wonder, however, as the door opened to him.

Note: Let me know what you think! In the next update, Minerva wakes up and gets ready for breakfast with Albus. -- BTW, thanks, Eli, for the post after my last update! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[elivania]

ROFL!!! Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for that. I totally needed this insanely hilarious scene right now. I have a final tomorrow morning and I soooo needed a laugh.

Awsome scene. I can't wait to see how Minerva frets about her choice of clothes. So funny!

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

ROFL!!! Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for that. I totally needed this insanely hilarious scene right now. I have a final tomorrow morning and I soooo needed a laugh.

Awsome scene. I can't wait to see how Minerva frets about her choice of clothes. So funny!

;D Oh, now, what's so funny about Albus selecting his clothes, hmm? Surely not the "mushroom effect"? Nor the silver boots? Tee-hee! At least he remembered he needed to pick out shoes, as well! (He was a li-ittle bit vain, there, wasn't he? ) He did look good when he was done, though -- if a bit ridiculous standing there holding a vase with an enormous bouquet of flowers. As for Minerva . . . are you forgetting that she will have to deal with Blampa, too? (Don't worry, no "trough" of food! ) But of course, neither of them is interested in impressing the other, are they? ;D After all, they each KNOW that they can't be anything more than friends, right?

Thanks for your note, Eli! Glad I provided a giggle for you! Good luck on your final! (I hope you got enough sleep! )

[Hogwarts Duo]

Awww, an indecisive Albus is adorable and the image of him standing at Minerva's door with the vase of flowers was perfect! Also, liked the shower bit where he found himself in a rather heated state of mind...

Don't make us wait too long for the next update!

[Apocalypticat]

I love it when Albus acts... well, 'childish' isn't the word. Perhaps just 'human?' Your story has a very human, very realistic Albus. I want to hug him.

Yes, I am still reading, and enjoying! It's very annoying, how writing prevents you from reading (HA is swallowing my life).

Keep it up!

[Gemmie Lou]

loved that last update so funny xx

[MMADfan]

Thank you all for your notes! I'm glad the story is still holding your attention!
This is too long for a single post, so I am splitting it in two.

Part XXXIXb: A Bright Morning, Two

Minerva awoke very early, the Scottish summer’s day dawning dimly through her windows. She rolled out of bed and noted that it was only quarter to five. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, to have a west-facing room. Although she kept her curtains drawn back from the windows to allow in the cool night air, she was rarely awakened by the early summer sunrise.

Knowing that she would not fall asleep again, Minerva got up, showered quickly using a brightly-scented lemon and rosemary soap that she purchased from her brother’s apothecary. It reminded her a little of Albus, she realised after buying it for the first time a few years ago. She had shrugged and continued to use it, replenishing her supply whenever it ran low. If she were to avoid everything that reminded her of him, she would have to become a hermit. Besides, eventually the scent would become associated with her own morning routine, she had reasoned, and no longer remind her of Albus.

Finishing up her shower with a quick nettle rinse for her hair, Minerva realised that she had a long time before breakfast and that it would not take her that much time to prepare for Albus’s arrival. She hoped that she wouldn’t spend the time fretting and stewing. Not that she normally would do that, but Minerva had to admit that lately her behaviour had not been usual for her. Albus had been right last night: she never should have allowed her concerns to mount the way they had. She should have been reasonable and talked with him, but as she had said, she had been understanding each time that he was late, and she felt that mentioning his failure to be on time to their meetings – or any of the other perceived slights – would make her appear petty. Not only that, but she would have had to confront for herself that her injured feelings arose in part because of It, even though she would never mention such a thing to Albus.

Minerva had no expectations, and certainly no hopes, that anything would ever come of It – she had resigned herself to that fact from the time It had first appeared – but she had harboured the hope that Albus valued their friendship, and the way she had interpreted his behaviour over the last few months had brought her to the erroneous conclusion that he didn't even respect her, let alone feel friendship for her. Minerva could see now that Albus did value their relationship and, thinking of the way he had held her the night before, she believed he valued her, as well.

Minerva stepped out of the shower and dried herself with one of the big, fluffy, white towels that Blampa had brought her the day before. She could take two baths a day for the next week and not run out of towels. Silly house-elf! Using her wand to create a jet of warm air, Minerva took a few minutes to dry her hair properly. Drying spells always left her hair full of static.

Pulling on a lightweight cotton tartan dressing gown, Minerva left the bathroom, undecided about what she should do first. She shoved her feet into her slippers and walked out of the bedroom. A cup of tea would help her plan the morning, she thought, heading toward her tiny kitchen. She knew that each staff member’s rooms were different and wondered whether everyone had a little kitchen like this. She knew that Poppy did, but she hadn’t seen enough of any of the other suites to know whether a kitchen was standard or not. Poppy had been quite impressed by Minerva’s bathroom. Since her rooms were off the infirmary, she had inherited the suite that had always been occupied by the school matron. Upon seeing Minerva’s bathroom, Poppy had wondered aloud whether she could get a similar tub the next time her rooms were renovated.

Tea made, Minerva brought it into her sitting room and drew back the curtains and opened the window. She had moved one of the chairs and a small table to that window as soon as she had moved in. From that chair, she could usually see the grassy lawn, the tip of the lake, and the Quidditch pitch. Fog had rolled in off the lake so thickly that morning, though, that the pitch was shrouded in white and the few trees that dotted the lawn were invisible. Minerva breathed in the damp, chill morning air and took a sip of tea. The first order of business, she supposed, would be to arrange the sitting room for their meal. It wouldn’t do to leave that to last, especially since she hoped that Blampa’s breakfast would arrive before Albus did. A small round table for them to eat at, she thought, and a narrow one that could serve as a buffet for whatever it was that Blampa was going to bring. She wanted the eggs, toast, and tea on the table, and perhaps the strawberries, too. The other dishes could be laid out on the other table. Assuming, of course, that they were suitable for that. Minerva now wished that she had given more explicit instructions to the house-elf.

After she was finished arranging the furniture, she could deal with getting dressed and getting ready for their meeting. Minerva had no idea what she should wear. She had robes that she’d worn when she worked in London, of course, but she wasn’t sure whether she had anything appropriate to wear at Hogwarts in the summer – she wasn’t even sure what would be appropriate. She obviously didn’t have to wear her teaching robes, but beyond that . . . . For the last couple of weeks, she had just been pulling clothes at random from her wardrobe, not really making any choices, other than to leave her dark outer teaching robes on their hangers. Yesterday was the first time in a long time that she had given much thought to what she was going to put on.

Minerva made quick work of the sitting room, glad that she was a Transfiguration Mistress. Two of the arm chairs became dining chairs. After a moment’s thought, she added seat cushions and armrests. She didn’t want Albus to become uncomfortable in a hard wooden chair and hurry through breakfast as a result. It was easy work to Transfigure an empty plant stand into a small round table, then to clear her work table and alter it slightly to serve as a buffet table.

Minerva had left all of her linens packed and stored at her parents’ house after she’d moved from London, so she Accio’d one of the fluffy bath towels and tried to Transfigure it into a tablecloth. In frustration, she realised it had some kind of Anti-Transfiguration Charm on it. She soon discovered that the extra bed linens were likewise Charmed. She remembered clearly that Albus had once Transfigured a linen towel into a tablecloth, so this Anti-Transfiguration Charm must either be something new or else Albus’s hadn’t been Charmed – or he was simply powerful enough to overcome it with ease. Minerva could, of course, break the Charm, but it hardly seemed worth it. Instead, she used a large cotton paisley scarf that she never wore, Charming it a solid white linen with flowers and vines woven through it in a subtle pattern. A few handkerchiefs became matching napkins. That accomplished, Minerva decided that she was finished with the sitting room. She wished she had some flowers, as Albus had at dinner, but she didn’t, and Transfigured flowers just didn’t seem appropriate. This would have to do. It was not even six o’clock yet.

Minerva sat at her dressing table and looked at her hair. She had started wearing it in a bun pinned at the back of her head while she was working in London. When she was in school, Minerva had preferred to tie it back in a ponytail or a braid and only pulled it up and twisted it behind her head when she was working with potions or when it was particularly warm. Once she began working at the Ministry, however, Minerva thought that wearing her hair down emphasised her youth, and so she began to wear it up every day. Over time, the bun had become tighter and more severe. It was always the same: twist the full length of the hair tightly, then wind it securely around itself and insert a few Charmed hairpins, with nary a stray hair wisping about her face. Her mother had told her more than once that it was not the most flattering way to wear her hair, but Minerva didn’t care. She wasn’t doing it in order to have anyone admire it, after all. Now that she was at Hogwarts, it didn’t hurt for her to continue wearing the severe bun, she thought, since the students might take her threat of discipline seriously enough that they would not require actual discipline. Today, though, she was not teaching. And perhaps she did care what someone who saw her might think of the way she looked – whilst still being professional, of course.

Lifting her wand, Minerva charmed her hair into a heavy braid, then gathered it behind her head and twisted it into a bun. She had begun the braid lower than she usually did and had gathered it more loosely. Now her hair looked fuller and softer, and she allowed a few stray wisps to frame her face. It was still a professional, mature look, Minerva thought, but softer and more feminine than her usual severe style. Not that it mattered whether she looked more feminine, of course. Albus certainly wouldn’t notice the difference, let alone whether she looked more or less feminine. And if his friendship with Professor Gamp was anything to go by, Albus didn’t necessarily value such things in his female friends. Not that Gertrude was bad looking, Minerva thought, trying not to be uncharitable, but she certainly didn’t take any pains with her appearance. Her iron-grey hair was cut in a severe bob, and her fringe was always cut straight across, just above her eyebrows. Minerva didn’t think that the Arithmancy teacher knew how to cast any make-up charms or Glamours, either, and Minerva had wondered once as a student whether the woman owned more than two or three outfits, or whether it was just that she owned multiple sets of the same grey, black, and navy blue robes.

Minerva thought that Albus might take note of what she wore, however, partly because the difference between her school attire and her “city clothes” was distinctive, but also because he did seem to appreciate nice robes, himself. As a student, she had often admired the way he looked, even before she had developed those other inconvenient feelings for him. She would have to make sure that she took some care with her choice of robes today. Before that, though, she looked critically in the mirror. She really hadn’t been taking proper care of her skin lately.

Minerva, as a general rule, didn’t like make-up charms, although it was easy enough to cast them, and she would use them, if the occasion seemed to call for it. Perhaps just a bit of brow-shaping this morning, then. She was blessed with the thick, dark McGonagall lashes, so she did nothing there. Looking at her face, she decided that a daily regimen of walking would do her skin some good, although it wouldn’t help her today. Still, she didn’t want to appear to be going to any special effort, so she only added one quick charm to slightly deepen the natural hue of her lips.

Now for what to wear. It was fairly easy to eliminate most of what she had in her wardrobe since they were the robes she wore during the school year under her teaching robe and were either too heavy for the weather or just too drab. Looking at the small selection of summer robes that she’d brought with her from London, she wavered briefly between choosing the Wedgewood blue robe and the deep yellow robe with raspberry trim. She remembered that Melina had helped her choose the yellow robe and had told her that the colours went well with her complexion and brought out the colour in her cheeks. She had only worn it a few times last summer after she bought it. She hadn’t felt the yellow, raw silk robe was appropriate to wear to work since it was essentially sleeveless, and the unwritten dress code at the Ministry mandated long sleeves for witches and wizards alike.

Minerva hung her dressing gown in the wardrobe, then held the robe up to herself whilst looking in the mirror. Well, if she didn’t like it after she had it on, she had plenty of time to change into something else. She pulled her underwear from a drawer in the wardrobe. With this robe, she would require a low-cut chemise. She had worn her nicest one the day before, but selected another one that she liked almost as well, although she would have to cast a Support Charm. Like her favourite chemise, it had tiny mother-of-pearl buttons all up the front, but it had only a touch of lace around the neckline and the straps. Remembering how the yellow robe fit, Minerva Charmed the chemise to match the raspberry trim – in case any of the lace peeked out from beneath the robe, it wouldn’t be as noticeable.

After dressing and putting on the same soft, slipper-like shoes she had worn the day before, Minerva looked at herself critically in the mirror. The shoes looked atrocious with that dress, but they were comfortable. Without much thought, she waved her wand. A little Colour-Change Charm, and they matched the robe’s raspberry trim. The trim contrasted nicely with the almost-saffron-yellow of the raw silk. The raspberry colour created a one-inch edge around the scoop neckline and a two-inch hem at the bottom of the skirt. The arms, while not having true sleeves, had soft caps of the same raspberry colour falling from the shoulder. What Minerva particularly liked, however, was the raspberry ribbon that laced up the front of bodice and the wider satin ribbon that was sewn into the garment to create a waistline. Minerva thought the robe looked fine on her, but was concerned that it might not be appropriate for a meeting with the Headmaster. On the other hand, she did not want to limit herself only to wearing the robes she would wear under her teaching robe. In that case, she might as well go and buy herself a wardrobe to match Gertrude’s! Perhaps if she put something on over it . . . but she remembered Melina’s admonishment not to ruin the look of the robe by putting another robe over it – she might as well not wear it, she had told her aunt, if she was just going to cover it up with something else. Of course, she might get chilly without any sleeves . . . but a Warming Charm could fix that.

An hour until Blampa would report to her, an hour and a half until Albus would arrive. Provided he wasn’t late, of course. Minerva chuckled. If he arrived late, she would have a bit of fun with him, she decided. She wouldn’t let him suffer too long, of course, but it might be amusing to see what he’d do if she were in tears and packing to leave the school! Perhaps slightly cruel, especially after how kind he had been last night, but Minerva thought that if she didn’t let it go on too long, he wouldn’t mind a small joke at his expense. Nonetheless, Minerva hoped he would be on time, and a part of her felt hurt in anticipation of the mere possibility that he might be late after he had apologised so nicely last night and had promised to treat their appointments with greater respect.

Minerva made herself another pot of tea, chamomile this time since they would be having a fresh pot of regular tea with their breakfast. Sitting at her window, she remarked that the fog was beginning to burn off already. As she sat and sipped her tea, Minerva thought about the events of the previous day. Albus must have known during lunch that he was going to set their appointment for late in the afternoon. He had engineered their meeting so that he could invite her to have dinner with him. She had felt miserable all through lunch, and hardly much better that afternoon, yet he had known all along that he was going to invite her for dinner and apologise then. There was no point in being angry with him about that, though. After all, it had been her own words that had caused her all of that anguish. And Minerva was sure that he hadn’t put off the meeting just so that she could be miserable a while longer. Not to mention the fact that Minerva herself had put off going to lunch because she hadn’t wanted to sit next to him. Thinking back on it, it seemed to Minerva that Albus had tried to reassure her when he came after her in the Great Hall and rescheduled their appointment. What had he said? Something about wishing they could meet sooner, but that five o’clock was more suitable, and then . . . “my dear Professor,” he had called her. She was probably making too much of that phrase. It was only a variation on a phrase he often used, after all. He had probably said the same thing to many a Hogwarts teacher. Albus was like that. But hadn’t he said something similar last night, as well? His toast . . . she had been trying so hard to get a word in and apologise to him, she hadn’t paid it much mind, but hadn’t he toasted “my dear Minerva” just before calling himself a barmy old codger? She sighed. This was absurd. It really didn’t matter what Albus had called her. It was a turn of phrase only. It meant nothing.

Of course, yesterday afternoon, Minerva had been unwilling to believe that she could hold an important place in his life, and yet the efforts to which Albus went to arrange dinner and craft his apology certainly showed that she was not as insignificant to him as she had believed . . . or had convinced herself. She had spent fifteen years telling herself that she could be nothing to him. And certainly she could not dream of ever expressing her feelings to him fully, of allowing It to emerge for him to see, but perhaps it was only the constant mental repetition of the “fact” that she could be nothing to him that had given the fact its reality, she mused.

Minerva had created a mantra: first, “You can be nothing to him, Minerva, but a student,” and later, “You can be nothing to him but a former student,” then, “You can be nothing to him but a friendly acquaintance with a mutual interest in Transfiguration.” The latest version was, “You can be nothing to him but an employee, a colleague, and a casual friend, Minerva.” Of course, she had wanted a deeper friendship with him, and she had believed that perhaps her desire for friendship was not entirely unrealistic now that she was working at Hogwarts, but then she had hardly seen him once the term began. Finishing the last cup of chamomile tea, Minerva supposed that was the way it would be even now. Albus might have fewer obligations during the summer, but she shouldn’t have any illusions about spending time with him. It should be sufficient to know that Albus had cared enough to go out of his way to have dinner with her last night.

Albus had said they were friends, though, when he sat with her on the sofa. It had been so nice to have him hold her, to lean against him and listen to his heartbeat. He was so solid and reassuring. And his presence still had the ability to send warm tingles to her nether regions, Minerva thought with a blush. Last night, she had not been in any state to appreciate such feelings – or, rather, to experience them, since she certainly didn’t “appreciate” it when they occurred. This morning, though, Minerva remembered how he had held her and rubbed her back and how lovely it had felt to rest against his broad chest. She wished that she had returned his embrace more, that she had actually put her arm around him instead of just resting her hand on his shoulder. But not only would that have been too forward, it also would have brought her much closer to him; to have been able to embrace him fully, she would have practically had to have climbed into his lap, rather than just sit beside him. While the thought of being that close to him was a rather pleasant fantasy, she was sure that Albus would have found it peculiar in the extreme. No doubt he would have either thought her surprisingly wanton or else found it childish, for what kind of grown witch would do such a thing?

With a few flicks of her wand, Minerva cleared her tea things. Blampa would be arriving in about forty minutes. She had just enough time for a quick walk. The now-familiar route from her rooms to the front doors took little time at that hour, especially with all of the students away. Letting herself out through the heavy doors, Minerva cast an Impervius Charm on her shoes and the hem of her skirt before walking down to the damp grass. She set out with no clear direction in mind, but headed toward the greenhouses. She considered gathering a few flowers for the breakfast table, but decided against it. Minerva didn’t want to pick anything without checking with Professor Birnbaum first, and she doubted that he was receiving visitors at that hour, even if she had thought to ask before leaving the castle.

The second half follows directly!

[MMADfan]

Part XXXIXb: A Bright Morning, Two, continued

Minerva usually took brisk, energetic walks, but that morning, despite knowing that she didn’t have much time before she had to return to meet with Blampa, she strolled at a leisurely pace past the greenhouses and gardens, pausing occasionally to look at a particularly striking plant, and then down toward the water. As she approached the lake, Minerva smiled, remembering the picnic that she and Professor Dumbledore had there just before she began her sixth-year. She was still an innocent then, relatively speaking, with no idea that her Animagus training would lead to such unexpected feelings for the one who was to teach her. She would have been horrified had she known, Minerva was sure. Or perhaps not. Minerva doubted that she could have comprehended the strength and power of those feelings before they actually struck her. No, with the arrogance of a particularly bright teenager, she probably would have thought that she could handle them, just box them away or something. She never would have understood that she could possess feelings that would be impossible to ignore, especially as strong as they had been during those first months after the accident.

Minerva stopped about where Albus had conjured the glider and looked out over the lake. If she had known, and if she had been able to comprehend the danger, would she have agreed to Dumbledore’s proposal that day? He had told her to consider it seriously and had implied that the warding project was not entirely safe, that there might be hidden dangers or difficulties she would have to face. But Minerva was completely certain that Dumbledore had no idea of the danger that had actually overtaken her that evening in his classroom all those years ago and no notion that she might be vulnerable to such a thing.

Minerva had told herself many times before that the accident might have happened regardless of whether Dumbledore had asked for her help with the wards. But Minerva knew that it was unlikely to have occurred if she hadn’t agreed to the second project. She would not have worked so hard to become an Animagus; she would have been satisfied to have achieved the transformation at any time during her seventh-year, rather than pushing to accomplish it before the end of her sixth. She would not have been doing those particular exercises at that particular time; she might even have been better prepared for the exercises – Dumbledore was brilliant and careful, but he was not perfect. Over the last ten years or so, it had occurred to Minerva more than once that perhaps Dumbledore had allowed her to proceed with the exercises too quickly, or that he should not have allowed her to practice the advanced exercises on her own. Hindsight is always perfect – or believes itself to be – and Minerva had little doubt that at the time of the accident Albus had also questioned his own judgment as a teacher. After all, he had not pressed her to return to her training immediately afterward. He had also seemed very ready to blame himself for it, although he only mentioned his entrance into the classroom as the immediately preceding cause and his assumption that he had been the “environmental trigger” and that he therefore must have caused her some unknown grief or harm. Dumbledore had never suggested that they might have been proceeding too quickly with her lessons.

Minerva sighed and turned to walk back up to the castle. Albus had had faith in her ability. There was nothing wrong with that. His faith was usually justified – and, in fact, had been justified when she became an Animagus after a remarkably short training period. She supposed that she would have made the same kinds of judgments about her progress as he had if she had been in his place. His pedagogic decisions, on the other hand . . . . Some of them seemed unwise, at least knowing what she knew now of her accident and the feelings it had freed in her.

If Dumbledore had maintained a greater distance from her, she would not have had the opportunity to develop such strong feelings for him, even in the nascent form they had taken before her accident. He had never been precisely unprofessional and certainly had never behaved in anyway that could have been calculated to engender such feelings in her, but his casual manner and his affectionate nature had permitted her to become closer to him than she should have. That was not an entirely fair accusation, Minerva knew. Slughorn was much more familiar with many of his students – and much more obviously had favourites, even in a classroom setting – but she doubted that any of his students became enamoured of him. Ugh! The thought was revolting! Minerva had even been a peripheral member of his little “Slug Club” for a while, although she had little talent for Potions and no discernable ambition that Slughorn might make use of. Minerva figured out early on that Slughorn invited her to his “soirees” because she was one of Dumbledore’s best students and he wanted to remain in Dumbledore’s good graces for some reason that Minerva hadn’t understood at the time.

And then, of course, there was that “paw exercise” she and Dumbledore had performed on each other. Perhaps that had been inappropriate between a teacher and a student. On the other hand, Minerva knew that if another teacher had done the same exercise with her – even some hypothetical non-existent Adonis-of-a-teacher – she would not have had the same reactions. And there was no reason for him to think that she would have such a reaction. They had a teacher - student relationship; true, it was more casual than most, but Albus was not a particularly formal wizard. He probably looked upon his students as if they were his children and assumed that, insofar as they might develop feelings toward him, they viewed him as a grandfather-figure. Minerva knew that had any other student passed out in his classroom, Albus would have Disillusioned her – or him – and carried her to the infirmary. He would have held the student and tried to calm her, just as he had held Minerva. There was nothing improper in anything he had done.

Minerva, to this day, did not understand why she had developed the feelings she had toward Albus. Why him and not someone else? If she hadn’t had the accident, would the feelings have burst forth on their own, but just under other circumstances? And why hadn’t time dimmed them? Infatuations and crushes were supposed to pass, especially ones developed by adolescents. Hers hadn’t, and she had actively tried to smother it. Minerva had hoped that, like a plant deprived of sunlight and water, this thing would wither and die if she did not provide It with any nourishment. It apparently found Its nourishment somewhere within her soul, however. Even when Minerva went months at a time not seeing or corresponding with Albus and doing all she could to avoid anything that reminded her of him, It remained, sitting there, smug and happy, and ready to inhabit her fully the next time that she saw him – or even the next time she received an Owl from him.

As she walked up the stairs toward her rooms, Minerva remembered with a smile one of the early techniques she had used in an effort to rid herself of It. Deciding that any normal teenage witch would be put off by Professor Dumbledore’s age, if nothing else, Minerva began spending time watching old men. Hogsmeade weekend would come, and she’d leave Carson in the Quidditch supply shop while she went to sit in the smoky backroom at the Three Broomsticks where old men gathered to smoke and play wizarding chess, draughts, and Gobstones (she had gone to the Hog’s Head once, but that was too disgusting for even this experiment). Much to the amusement of the old men – and the puzzlement of the landlady – Minerva would sit, drink a butterbeer, and watch these old wizards play their games and talk. She had a sense that they felt somewhat inhibited by her presence initially, but eventually they became used to her and forgot she was there.

Minerva would memorise every line, wrinkle, whisker, and droplet of spittle clinging to the corner of a sagging mouth. She would concentrate on everything that was unappealing in their manner of dress and speech. Later, when she met up with Carson again, he would complain of how she smelled and cast a freshening charm for her. He didn’t understand her fascination with that backroom, and she explained it to him by saying that she had never known one of her grandfathers and rarely saw the other one, so she liked to watch the old men and imagine they were her own grandfathers. If Carson thought this was odd, he was gentleman enough not to say so.

In the evening after dinner, Minerva would go to her dormitory, pull the curtains closed around her, and imagine one of the old wizards touching her – nothing terribly extreme, just that one of them caressed her in an un-grandfatherly way, touching her face or embracing her. Minerva would imagine every distasteful detail that she had so carefully memorised, then add her memory of the smell of the room. She would quickly become disgusted. Then Minerva would imagine a different old man who wanted to touch her, and she would try to imagine touching him this time – touching him in ways she imagined she would like to touch her professor. She rarely got beyond the faintest touch, this exercise repulsed her so, and she would quit. Minerva would still have one more mental exercise to perform, however. She would imagine the oldest-looking wizard from the pub coming up to her and kissing her mouth. After that, she would get up from the bed and brush her teeth.

These exercises, which young Minerva thought were probably unfair and unkind to the old wizards who had tolerated her presence in their company, established two things: first, she did not have a fetish, or whatever the word was, for old men and did not find old wizards attractive simply because they were old and, second, that concentrating on everything that was unattractive about the old men at the Three Broomsticks did not lessen Professor Dumbledore’s attractiveness to her. In her last visit to the Three Broomsticks, Minerva even tried concentrating on a few of the wizards who could have been said to have retained their looks and focussed on examining and appreciating all of their good attributes; that evening, she went back to her dormitory and, rather than trying to evoke disgust in herself, she imagined these wizards touching her, and she tried to become aroused by it. It didn’t work. They were still highly unattractive to her and Dumbledore was still . . . Dumbledore.

Minerva sighed as she entered her sitting room. She would have to find a way of dealing with these feelings. Having thought about them at all yesterday had been a step in the right direction; she had avoided thinking about It since she had arrived back at Hogwarts – not an easy task, but she was stubborn. Minerva looked at the small round table and straightened the napkins, although they didn’t need it. Gritting her teeth, gazing at the tablecloth but not really seeing it, she knew there was another aspect of this topic that she would have to confront, one which she really did not want to: it presented too much potential to cause her emotional pain. And there was nothing she could do about any of it. No, that wasn’t true. She could have some control over her own reactions, over her own choices – not that she didn’t have any control now, but it was as though she was doing a Transfiguration without knowing the nature of the object she was performing the spell on; the Transfiguration might be successful, but it might also be disastrous, just as her state of mind yesterday morning had nearly brought disaster down upon her and upon Albus, as well.

Professor Gertrude Gamp. There. Minerva had named that other aspect. And that was all that she could do at the moment, as she had never spared enough thought to it to even be able to articulate why Gertrude was an aspect of the problem. And she couldn’t spare any time to think about it that morning. It would have to wait. Blampa would be here at any minute, and then Albus would be arriving. She would have to be able to hold a conversation with him over breakfast, after all.

There was a sharp snap and Blampa appeared a few feet from her.

“Good morning, Professor Minerva! You’s look bright and awake this morning, Professor Minerva! Very pretty robe for breakfast with your Professor Headmaster! Yes, I, Blampa, loves the Professor Minerva’s robe. She looks very pretty! Very pretty!”

Minerva blinked at the house-elf. This creature became more peculiar with each passing day. “Thank you, Blampa,” she said, after overcoming her surprise. “As you can see, the breakfast table is here, and over there I cleared the work table so you can use that as a buffet. I would like the soft-boiled eggs, toast, and tea on the table. The other dishes, including the strawberries, can either go on the buffet or on the table, as you see fit.” Minerva had a sudden inspiration. “I was unable to get any flowers for the table, Blampa. Could you please provide some flowers and – ” Minerva was taken aback when the house-elf interrupted her.

“Oh, no, Professor Minerva. Blampa can’ts do that. No, no flowers. No. Sadly. Blampa can’ts. No.” Blampa shook her head and looked at the floor, but didn’t seem as sad as she had the day before when Minerva had not-quite scolded her for popping in when she hadn’t been called. These house-elves were truly irritating. The lack of flowers must have something to do with what they were allowed to do at Hogwarts, or something they had been forbidden to do, since Blampa wasn’t offering any excuses for her inability to produce a bouquet for the table.

“All right. I suppose we will do without, then. What else did you have in mind for the breakfast menu?”

Blampa drew herself up straighter and, sounding almost like Wilspy, replied, “Heavy cream, lightly sweetened, for the strawberries; scones with Sultanas; sweet butter; grapefruit marmalade; baked onions in cream sauce; grilled tomatoes; fresh sage sausages; sauteed mushrooms; and ginger newts. I, Blampa, choose a few nice, delectable selections for the Professor and her Headmaster.” At the end of that rather dignified recitation, Blampa ruined the effect by bouncing on her toes and bending the tips of her ears forward in anticipation of Minerva’s reaction.

“That all sounds very good, Blampa!” It really did, especially as Minerva was very hungry, having been up for a few hours already. “Perhaps put the scones, butter, and marmalade on the breakfast table, and the strawberries and cream on the buffet with everything else.” Minerva didn’t have the heart to tell her that she didn’t think that she would be eating ginger newts for breakfast. “I’m looking forward to it.” Minerva was about to send the house-elf off about her business when the elf began to make a suggestion.

“Miss Professor Minerva, Blampa likes table. Really,” she whined. “But Blampa thinks Blampa likes table – ” This time Minerva cut off the house-elf’s speech.

“Blampa, you know it displeases me when you talk like that. You’ve been doing a very good job, don’t spoil it. If you have an idea, let me hear it. If I don’t like it, I won’t use it, but I’m not going to be angry with you – and if I were angry with you, it wouldn’t make it any better for you if you were cringing and talking like a, like a, like a very stupid house-elf! Say what you want to say, and say it properly, please,” finished Minerva, who couldn’t fail to notice genuine tears welling up in the little creature’s big eyes.

“Blampa’s sorry, Professor Minerva,” she sniffled to her, “I, Blampa– ” Blampa paused to gulp a little. “I, Blampa, thinks I like little breakfast table at window where Professor Minerva sits.” When Minerva didn’t yell at her, she continued, “I, Blampa, can move Professor Minerva’s chair and table and move little breakfast table and chairs there instead. Pretty view for pretty Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster.”

“That’s a very good idea, Blampa. If you have good ideas like that in the future, please tell me.” Before Minerva had finished speaking, the house-elf had snapped her fingers and the room was rearranged. Minerva’s chair and small table were now next to the fireplace instead of beside the window. The breakfast table and the chairs were now nestled by the window. Blampa had also moved the work table so that it was against the wall to the right of the entry door and perpendicular to the window; the sofa now had its back to the door and faced the breakfast table. The effect was pleasing, and Minerva was satisfied that breakfast would not be a total disaster. Or if it was, it wouldn’t be because of the food or the furniture, anyway.

After Blampa had left, beaming with pleasure at her success, Minerva went into the loo and brushed her teeth. She wondered if she should have put on jewellery that morning. She had a number of nice necklaces. Suddenly feeling as though she had no time at all to get ready, Minerva rushed into her bedroom and pulled her jewellery box from her dressing table. She opened the Charmed box and looked at the necklaces that hung from the little “trees” that popped up when the box was open. Several were too heavy for the style of her robe and were easily eliminated. Flipping through the others, she chose a warm amber necklace on a fine goblin-made gold chain. The piece of amber was a bit larger than a galleon and had two small, well-preserved insects in it. Minerva had always thought they looked like bumblebees, but she didn’t even know if such things existed when the amber was made. She didn’t really care what they actually were; they looked like bees and had reminded her of Albus when she had found the necklace in a small shop. It was the year she spent in Germany doing her Transfiguration apprenticeship: she missed home, she missed Albus, and she indulged in a moment of weakness and bought the necklace despite the fact that it reminded her of Albus – or, actually, because it reminded her of him.

In the other room, Minerva heard sounds that alerted her that Blampa had delivered breakfast. As she was fastening the necklace clasp behind her neck, she heard clanking and barking coming from the landscape above the fireplace in her sitting room. Albus must have arrived, and the knight and his dog had come through to let her know. He was called “The Silent Knight,” and although it wasn’t strictly true that he never spoke, he did so rarely. He claimed to be under a geas that limited to whom and under what circumstances he could allow himself to speak until he had accomplished some unnamed task – which Minerva thought had to be one of the most ridiculous things she had ever heard coming from a portrait. Thank goodness for the dog, which was under no such constraints and would come and bark for her when she had a guest at the door. The knight himself was practically useless, Minerva thought. She would do just as well with only the dog.

Minerva hurried from her bedroom, glancing with pleasure at the breakfast as she passed through the sitting room. She reached the door, cast a Tempus, and smiled when she saw that it was precisely eight o’clock. Taking a deep breath, Minerva opened the door to her guest.

I hope you all enjoyed that – sorry about the little bit of a cliffie! ;D

[Jessabelle]

I love the effort that both Albus and Minerva put into pleasing eachother. The description and detail you add to every aspect pf this story creates a very vivid image in my mind and really draws me into the story. As always, these posts have been written very well and are really entertaining -
BUT ... Why did you stop there?!
I cannot wait for them to sit down together and enjoy breakfast!
Please, update again soon!
- Jess

[elivania]

Such amazing detail and you have Minerva in perfect character. I love the contrast between their respective prepartation attidutes. Albus is so nervous and flighty while Minerva remains cool and collected over her simmering nervousness.

Very good job. Wonderful additions! *Eli*

[Trulyamused]

Wonderful parts.

I'm looking forward to breakfast for a change.

Truly

[Apocalypticat]

Smashing part. I loved the way Minerva tried to destroy her attraction; it's very in character and very realistic. Can sympathise greatly!

*Bounces*

[MMADfan]

Note: I'm glad you all enjoyed the last installments -- and Apocalypticat, I'm happy you appreciated young Minerva's experimental method to rid herself of her feelings. ;D She had quite a time of it, didn't she?

Anyway, here's the next installment. As is so often the case, it's too long to post in one shot, so it will be continued in the next post.

Thanks for reading! And I LOVE getting everybody's comments!

Part XL: Breakfast with Albus, Breakfast with Minerva

When Minerva opened the door, Albus’s breath was taken away again. “You look stunning, Minerva.” He heard himself say it, although he hadn’t intended to. She looked beautiful that morning, her hair gathered in back, a few tendrils loosely framing her face, her lips plumply red and her cheeks rosy, the colour brought out by the trim of her gown, which showed her feminine figure to great advantage. Yes, his statement had been truthful: he had been stunned when Minerva opened the door, so much so that he forgot himself for a moment.

Minerva blushed as she held the door for Albus to enter. She was pleased by his words and wanted to tell him he looked nice, as well, for he did, but she was afraid it would sound like an insincere response to his own compliment. Instead, she commented on the other remarkable aspect of his appearance at her door – the flowers.

“Albus, how lovely that you brought flowers! I was wishing I had some, and these are beautiful.” She took the vase from him and buried her face in a large flower, ostensibly to breath in its scent, but more to hide her flush.

Albus stepped into the room. “You’re welcome. I meant to give them to you last night, my dear, but I’m afraid I was so taken by the fair blossom who graced my presence that I forgot the bouquet.” What was he on about! Why did he persist in saying such ridiculous things? She would be offended, he was sure, and he waited tensely for the rebuke he was certain would follow his insensitive remarks. Minerva wanted his respect, and instead, he was offering her fatuous comments about her appearance. Rather than a rebuke, however, he was rewarded with a smile as she lifted her face from the bouquet.

“They are beautiful, Albus.” Minerva turned and placed them on the table with the buffet. The bouquet was so large that they wouldn’t have been able to see each other if she put it on the little round breakfast table. Not very conducive to conversation. Minerva smiled again as she nudged the vase over just a bit. What a lovely gesture. “Did you get them from Professor Birnbaum yesterday?” she asked, turning back to face him. Minerva was glad that she had managed to complete her sentence before she had the chance to really see him. He looked absolutely wonderful: the colour of his robes brought out the blue in his eyes, and the cut of his under-robe emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow hips; even the somewhat-distracting patterned over-robe couldn’t hide the assets that his under-robe presented so beautifully. The many layers Albus so often wore had a tendency to obscure the fact that he was naturally blessed with a clearly masculine build, although Minerva was all too aware of it.

“I asked Johannes if I could help myself to some of the flowers from the greenhouses and gardens.” Albus hesitated. Should he mention that he had selected and picked them himself? She seemed to like them. . . perhaps it would be all right. “I am glad you like them; I enjoyed picking them and trying to make a nice arrangement. It’s not something I have done in a while.”

“Well, they are beautiful. I am glad now that Blampa couldn’t get me any flowers this morning,” Minerva said. “And you look very nice, yourself. Your robes are beautiful, especially the under-robe. The embroidery is quite fine.” She was blathering, Minerva thought. Why on earth did she mention his robe? Of course, he had complimented her when he arrived. Perhaps he wouldn’t think it inappropriate.

“Thank you. The robe is new. The embroidered one, I mean. I hadn’t worn it yet and wasn’t sure . . . Madam Malkin told me it was fine, but she’s in the business of selling clothes.” Why on earth did he continue saying such inanities?

“Madam Malkin wouldn’t do very well, though, if she recommended clothes to people that didn’t suit them. She was right, in this case, anyway.” Minerva could feel her blush deepen as she thought of how attractive he looked. She hoped Albus didn’t notice. “Would you like some breakfast, Albus? The soft-boiled eggs and toast on are the table, but, as you can see, we have a number of other dishes to choose from.”

“Yes, it all looks quite tasty,” he replied, surveying the bowls and platters arrayed on the narrow side table. “Do you mind if I start with the eggs and then decide what else I’d like?”

“Of course not, Albus, don’t be silly. You’re here for a pleasant breakfast. Eat whatever you would like in whatever order you choose,” Minerva said with a smile. “In fact, I think I will join you – I’m actually ravenous this morning, so starting with the eggs sounds like a good idea.”

Minerva noticed as they went to sit at the table that between the time that she had left the room to brush her teeth and the time that she had returned to open the door to Albus, the arrangement of the little breakfast table had changed. It must have been Blampa. Instead of the two chairs facing one another at each side of the window, now one of them faced the window directly, with the other chair remaining where it had been. The place-settings were much closer now, and the tea service was laid out where one of the place-settings had previously been. Minerva would have to have a word with Blampa; expressing ideas was one thing, too much initiative was quite another.

Albus held the chair facing the window and waited for Minerva to sit. “Unless you’d prefer the other chair, my dear?” he asked when she hesitated.

“No, this is fine, thank you, Albus!” She sat and placed her napkin on her lap. “Tea?”

“Yes, please. A little milk first, if you don’t mind.”

Minerva raised up in her seat a little to reach for the pitcher. After pouring some milk in the bottom of the cup, she stood a bit more to pour the tea. “Sugar? Albus, sugar?” she repeated, looking over at him when he didn’t respond immediately. He looked up at her with a slightly glazed expression.

“Yes, that would be fine. Just a little.” Albus blinked and gave himself a mental kick. When Minerva had stood to pour the tea and had bent over the table slightly, he had been wildly distracted by the sight that the bodice of her robe presented him. The pretty ribbon lacing certainly was effective in displaying Minerva’s figure to its fullest advantage. He had torn his eyes away just as she turned to look at him, fortunately. He didn’t think that she had noticed his unseemly appreciation of her bosom. It was not as though she were spilling out of her robes or anything like that; the cut was perfectly modest. Albus wished he could slap himself.

Minerva poured her own tea whilst Albus busied himself taking the top off his egg. Perfectly soft-boiled, yet still warm. House-elf magic certainly had a way with an egg. He put the smallest lump of butter on the top of his egg and followed it with salt and pepper, glad to have a routine task to perform whilst he regained his composure. It had not been only his mind that had been distracted a moment ago, and Albus doubted that he could stand just then without embarrassing himself. Just in case, he pulled himself a bit closer to the table to be sure that his lap was fully obscured.

Minerva was eating her own breakfast quite hungrily and didn’t notice Albus’s discomfiture. She had finished her second egg and a slice of toast; Albus was still working on his first egg and a scone. “All right, Albus? Is the egg to your liking?” Minerva didn’t think he looked very well. He had looked fine when he arrived. Perhaps he didn’t like the eggs.

“Oh, yes, it’s fine. Just taking my time, is all,” Albus replied.

“Well, I think that I will help myself to some of the other things that Blampa thought were suitable for our breakfast. Would you like me to bring you anything?” she asked, standing.

“If you don’t mind, I think I might use your loo. I’ll get myself something after that.”

“Oh, of course! You know where it is; help yourself!”

As soon as Minerva turned toward the other table, Albus stood. He hoped she wouldn’t turn around before he’d made it to the door, which was behind him just to the left of the serving table. Fortunately, when she did turn, he was at the door and angled away from her. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him quickly. Slumping to sit on the closed toilet lid, Albus let out a sigh. Perversely, once he sat down, his problem began to subside on its own. Cursing the fact that he had left his wand in his bedroom, he cast a wandless Cooling Charm, trying to focus it on the area of his arousal, which was a more difficult task without his wand. He really did not want to cast a deflating spell; they were very uncomfortable and could have unpleasant side-effects for a number of hours afterward.

The Cooling Charm worked as he had hoped. Albus stood and flushed the toilet, although he had not used it. He didn’t know if you could usually hear it through the closed door or not.

What was wrong with him? He had better self-control than this. It was having held her the night before. That had got him thinking in directions he should not have. Washing his hands, Albus shivered. Although he had aimed the icy blast at his “nether regions,” he now felt quite chilled through. He imagined that the bathroom must be colder than usual, too, so to compensate, Albus cast a quick Warming Charm just before he opened the door to the sitting room.

In the sitting room, Minerva helped herself to mushrooms, baked onions, grilled tomatoes, and a single little sausage. She would have some strawberries and cream after this. Perhaps she wouldn’t scold Blampa about the place settings, after all. The breakfast was wonderful. Sitting and tucking into the meal in front of her, Minerva considered Albus’s behaviour that morning. He seemed very quiet. He had been quite gallant with the flowers and the compliments, she thought. She smiled to herself. Albus had looked a little overwhelmed when she’d opened the door to him – she had hardly been able to see him over the huge bouquet. She was fairly sure that no one had given her flowers in quite that fashion before. Maybe it was a last minute decision; although it was very sweet of him to have picked the flowers himself.

Remembering the effort Albus had gone to the evening before and the events that had led up to it, Minerva wondered about the reason for his silence. Perhaps despite their reconciliation, he still felt bad about what he had overheard her say yesterday morning. Poppy had seemed to think that Albus had looked very hurt by her ill-chosen words. Yet he had barely allowed her to apologise, and when she had, he had offered his own apology again, saying that he understood and could not blame her. That must be it, Minerva decided. In typical Albus-fashion, he had forgiven her quickly and had sought to make amends for his own failings. He probably still felt hurt by what she had said, despite his understanding and protests that everything was fine.

She would have to make clear to Albus that she was truly sorry for her words, but especially for the fact that they had hurt him. Perhaps when Albus had said they were friends, he had been looking for reassurance, too. Clearly, Minerva’s mantra had so well inculcated in her the belief that she could be nothing to him that she hadn’t considered the possibility that Albus might feel unsure in his own belief that they were friends. Despite his confidence, his brilliance, and his obvious magical power, Minerva knew that Albus had vulnerabilities, that he wasn’t the unassailable icon so many in the wizarding world believed him to be. Yes, she would apologise again, and this time, she would make sure that he allowed her to complete her apology.

Albus returned and began to serve himself from the side table.

“You should try the onions and the mushrooms, especially, Albus. I never would have considered baked onions for breakfast, but they are wonderful. I’d take seconds, but I want to leave room for some of Hagrid’s strawberries.” Minerva smiled at him as he took his seat beside her.

“He certainly is proud of his strawberries, isn’t he?” Albus chuckled. “I had the same discussion with him as you did yesterday, but avoided having his fist shoved in my face as we were standing in his garden at the time.”

Minerva smiled, but, remembering her mood during lunch the day before, didn’t reply. They resumed eating in silence.

Well, this was awkward, Albus thought. It seemed he couldn’t say anything without putting his foot in his mouth that morning. Why did he have to remind her of lunch? She had been clearly upset during lunch, as he had been able to see under her Glamour. After a sip of tea, he decided he needed to ease her discomfort.

“I’m sorry I mentioned that. I know you were . . . not feeling like yourself yesterday at lunch. It was careless of me to have reminded you. I am sorry, Minerva.”

“Albus, if you don’t stop apologising, I shall dump the mushroom pot over your head. Well, I suppose I wouldn’t. The mushrooms are too good to waste, and I wouldn’t want to get your beautiful new robe dirty.” Minerva smiled at Albus ruefully. “None of that was your fault, and I don’t want you to walk on eggshells, afraid to say anything to me for fear I’ll be upset by it. I admit that thinking of lunch yesterday reminded me of how I felt at the time, but that’s not likely to be far from my consciousness any time soon, anyway. I think I’ve learned that it’s not a good idea to avoid thinking about something that bothers me, at least not as a long-term strategy, so I don’t think it would be right for me to expect you to avoid mention of anything that could conceivably remind me of everything that happened yesterday. Not only that, but the day turned out very well, in the end. Last evening was more enjoyable than any in a very long time, and I don’t want to forget it.”

At the end of Minerva’s speech, Albus smiled widely. “Very well, Minerva. And I am very pleased to hear that you enjoyed yesterday evening so much, since my own sentiments were similar. I hope we are able to spend more time together like that.” There it was again – the foot in the mouth. She certainly wouldn’t want to spend more time in tears on his couch with him. He was relieved to see that Minerva didn’t seem to notice his gaffe.

“I would like that, too, Albus. Very much.” She rose. “May I get you some strawberries and cream?” At his smiling assent, she went to the table and began to fill two bowls with the strawberries and pour heavy cream over them. As she was doing this, an owl appeared at the window. Hooting softly, she perched on the window ledge.

“You appear to have received some post this morning, Minerva. Would you like me to take it for you?”

She glanced over. She didn’t recognise the parchment. It didn’t look like anything that her parents or one of her brothers would use. Perhaps it was from Melina. She wrote on whatever was at hand. Minerva once received a letter from her written on the back of a Muggle restaurant menu.

“Yes, please, Albus. Thank you.” She carried their bowls of fruit over to the table as Albus gave the owl a bit of sage sausage from his plate. “I wonder who it’s from.”

“I would say, based on the hand-writing, that it is from the Deputy Headmistress,” Albus replied.

“Gertrude? Why would she write to me?” Minerva was extremely puzzled, but didn’t doubt Albus. He had worked with Gertrude long enough to be familiar with her hand-writing. “I don’t think I’ve ever received a letter from her in my life. Not unless you count the little notes she would occasionally leave for me that summer I was helping you with the wards. Are you sure it’s for me, and the owl didn’t bring it for you?”

“I have not recently changed my name to ‘Minerva Morag McGonagall,’ so, yes, I am fairly certain it is not for me,” Albus said with a grin.

Minerva winced. If there was one thing that she disliked more than being called “Min” or “Minnie,” it was being reminded that her middle name was “Morag.” Thank goodness her mother had prevailed in her insistence that she be named “Minerva” in the classical tradition from her side of the family; “Morag” could remain as her middle name. Minerva would have to remember to thank her mother for that again. She was sure there were many Morags who were quite happy with that name; Minerva doubted she would have been one of them.

Setting the bowls down on the table, Minerva wiped her hands on her napkin before taking the letter from Albus. It was on very heavy, fine parchment. It had been folded rather than rolled, then tied with a narrow piece of brilliant green ribbon and sealed with dark green wax. The Gamp family crest had been pressed into the seal. Minerva sat.

Albus watched Minerva, bemused. It was just a letter, yet she was sitting there, holding it gingerly and making no move to open it.

“Are you going to read it now or set it aside for later?” Albus asked. “I won’t mind either way.” He picked up a spoon and began to eat the strawberries Minerva had brought him. Minerva still sat there gazing at the letter as if she thought it might do something unexpected and dangerous at any moment. “I’ve received many letters from Gertie over the years, Minerva,” Albus said between bites, “and none have contained hidden poisons or curses. I would be happy to check it over for you, however, if that would help,” he joked.

“Hmm? Oh, no. I was just wondering why she would send me a letter.” Minerva remembered her promise to herself that she would explore that other aspect of her problem that was Gertrude Gamp. Now she wished that she already had done that. She had no idea why a letter from the Deputy Headmistress would make her so uneasy. It was foolish, really.

“Well, when I’m wondering why someone sent me a letter, I generally find a clue to the reason in its contents,” Albus said with a smile. “And although as a Slytherin, Gertie’s reasons may not be entirely contained within the letter itself, it is still an excellent place to begin, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” she replied, quickly breaking the seal and sliding the ribbon from the letter. Unfolding it, Minerva noticed the Gamp family crest adorned the parchment, as well. The McGonagalls had no wizarding family coat-of-arms, but Minerva could use a variant of her mother’s Egidius crest, if she wished. Wizarding society had no official grant or registry for crests and coats-of-arms, and anyone who wished could design one for themselves; first use of a particular design established a right to the crest, which could be shared with family members or remain purely individual. Pure-blood families often had crests with long pedigrees, and they used them as a matter of course. Minerva’s family, however, had never put any emphasis on such things – although she remembered her grandmother, Siofra Tyree McGonagall, had used the Tyree coat-of-arms occasionally.

“4 July 1957

“Dear Minerva:

“This evening as I enjoyed the healthy Cornish air, I remembered our conversation today at lunch and your mention of a holiday. It occurred to me that a few days here in Cornwall might have a restorative effect following your first term of teaching. If you have not experienced the landscape here, I believe you will find it invigorating.

“With this in mind, I would like to invite you to visit the Gamp family home next week. If you are so inclined, the ribbon with which this letter is tied is a Portkey set for activation between 8.00 and 8.30 on the morning of Monday the eighth of July. If you are able to accept this invitation, the Portkey may be used at any point within that half-hour with the password ‘ducere.’

“I hope to hear from you by return Owl that you will be able to accept my invitation. There are various family members visiting, so I believe that you would not fail to find some conversations of interest while you are here.

“As always,
“I remain,

“Gertrude Gamp”

Continued in the next post on the following page!