Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[MMADfan]

This installment of the story began in the last post on the previous page, but had to be split up due to its length.

Part XL: Breakfast with Albus, Breakfast with Minerva, continued

Finishing the letter, Minerva didn’t know quite what to make of it. She read it through again. She had never considered Gertrude a particular friend and certainly had never expected to receive an invitation of this sort from her. In addition, Minerva clearly remembered that it had been Gertrude who had mentioned a holiday, and not herself.

“Well?” questioned Albus. “You needn’t share it with me, of course, but I am very curious now, myself – especially since the letter has held your attention far longer than its length would normally prescribe.”

“Oh, here. You can read it,” Minerva said, handing him the letter. “I don’t understand it at all.”

Albus read it. “Well, it’s an invitation to visit Gertie at her family home.”

“Yes, I see that, Albus. I just don’t understand the invitation. And I didn’t mention a holiday yesterday, she did.”

“Perhaps I can translate part of it for you?”

Minerva snorted. “As you said, it’s an invitation.”

“Hmm, yes. But it is an interesting one. And not simply because you did not expect it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no doubt there is more here than I am able to read, but from her first paragraph, I would say that she is bored. She say, ‘If you have not experienced the landscape here, I believe you will find it invigorating.’ That’s not to say that she doesn’t like Cornwall, just that it’s not new to her anymore, and somewhat boring as a result.”

“But how . . . she didn’t say anything about how she felt about it, Albus!”

“If someone else had written this, then I might agree with you. However, as un-Slytherin as you might sometimes find Professor Gamp, she did spend seven years in that House, not to mention that most of her family are Slytherin. What might be a straight-forward statement coming from someone else often has another layer of meaning when uttered by a Slytherin.”

“That could be said of anyone, Albus.”

“True, but given that this letter and invitation were so unexpected, and you yourself said you did not understand it, I think it fair to say that there is more to it than a superficial reading would reveal. Of course, it’s your letter,” he said, handing it back to her.

“All right, Albus.” Minerva pushed the letter back toward him. “What else do you think you can read in there – I doubt she is inviting me down there just because she is bored.”

Albus grinned. “Well, notice that she refers to ‘the Gamp family home.’ She doesn’t refer to it as her home, but neither does she call it the ‘Gamp Estate,’ which she could have done. For some reason, she is emphasising the familial aspect of the home, but minimising her own connection with it. She then goes on to tell you that other family members will be visiting at the same time, and she thinks you probably won’t like them much, but – ”

“What?! She says nothing of the sort!”

“Oh, certainly she does. Here – she says, ‘There are various family members visiting, so I believe that you would not fail to find some conversations of interest while you are here.’ She doesn’t say you’ll meet anyone you would like, or that you would find the people themselves interesting – or even that you would engage in interesting conversations. No, I think she believes that you will dislike her relatives and find their conversations irritating or infuriating. And knowing some of her relatives myself, I believe she is correct.”

“Oh. You just made that up based on what you know of her relatives, then.” Minerva looked slightly put out.

“Well, obviously, knowing that helped, but even so, the sentence speaks for itself. . . .” Albus ate another slice of strawberry.

“Why on earth would she invite me to visit a place she finds boring at a time when there are people there whom she thinks I won’t like? Especially since it’s not as though we are particularly close. We’ve never even invited each other to have tea, and now she is inviting me to spend a few days with her at her family home in Cornwall?”

“Well, my dear, I do think that part of the invitation is genuine. She thinks that you need a holiday after your first term teaching. Of course, she doesn’t say the air of Cornwall or its landscape would be restorative, but that a few days spent in Cornwall with her would be restorative. Perhaps she has some particular plan for your visit.” He finished the last of his strawberries.

“But she doesn’t even like me!”

Albus looked up sharply. “Why would you say that, Minerva? I believe she thinks rather highly of you.”

“I don’t know. She never seemed to. Not that she’s . . . well, let’s just say that she and Hagrid have nothing in common, in terms of temperament.” Minerva did not want to be rude and call Gertie a cold fish right to Albus’s face, but she was not a particularly warm and friendly person.

Albus just grinned at Minerva’s comparison. “No, that she’s not! But she is steadfast and principled, and if she decides you’re a friend, a Hufflepuff couldn’t be more loyal.”

Minerva was very surprised by Albus’s description of Gertie. Not that Minerva had ever lumped her in with the mass of conniving Slytherins with whom she had dealt in school, but to hear a Slytherin described as steadfast, loyal, and principled . . . well, either being sorted into Slytherin had been a hellish mistake or she had changed a great deal since she had been sorted.

Seeing the expression on Minerva’s face, Albus looked at her seriously. “You know, Minerva, just because ambition can make many Slytherins unprincipled does not mean that ambition and principle are mutually exclusive. And although the House emphasises loyalty to oneself, that does not mean that a Slytherin is incapable of loyalty to anyone else – and not necessarily only for self-serving reasons.”

“I’m sorry, Albus. I didn’t mean . . . well, I didn’t say anything like that about her. And I know that she is your friend. You’ve known and trusted her for a long time. So have I. Since you told me about the wards, in fact. I knew that you would not trust anyone who was not worthy of it – or at least, that you wouldn’t do so for very long. I’m just confused by the invitation, I guess.”

“I know. And I have not been particularly happy with the . . . trend in Slytherin over the last several decades, myself. Not that it has ever been a very . . . comfortable House for anyone who is not a Slytherin, but I do believe that some of their more noble traditions and beliefs have been de-emphasised or cast off whilst some of their. . . less progressive ideas and more ruthless beliefs have become exaggerated.” Albus sighed.

Minerva decided that she would have to learn more about Slytherin House, especially now that she was teaching at Hogwarts. Apparently there was more to it than she had seen from her vantage point as a student. She had never thought of it as having any noble traditions or beliefs.

“Here, let me pour you more tea, Albus.”

Albus studiously watched the teapot as Minerva rose slightly in her chair and poured him another cup.

“I suppose that we should begin discussing school business soon,” Minerva said with a slight sigh.

“Yes. I wish I could spend all day with you, but I do have some work to catch up on this afternoon.”

Minerva brightened at his words. She couldn’t help but smile. He wished he could spend all day with her! Of course, it was probably just an expression. “Yes, that would have been nice, but I understand. . . . You know, Albus, if there’s anything I could help you with, I’d be happy to.”

“I don’t think so. Not this afternoon, anyway. It’s mostly Ministry and Wizengamot business. I do have some Hogwarts business I would like your help with – your advice, chiefly. Perhaps we could bring our tea over to the couch and talk?”

Minerva was warmed by his words. He wanted her advice. Of course, it may be about something inconsequential, but still . . . . She got up and moved the plant stand in front of the couch and Transfigured it into a low coffee table. Albus carried his teacup and a scone over and set them on the little table. He smiled. “Quite utilitarian, isn’t it, Minerva?”

“Well, it’s what we needed,” she began, somewhat flustered.

“I’m only teasing, Minerva. I just happen to be aware that you are capable of some rather ingenious Transfiguration, and yet you rarely express that talent, that’s all.” He smiled at her and sat down, patting the sofa beside him. “Join me?”

Minerva smiled slightly and did as he suggested. As she sat, she remembered how nice it had been to sit with him before dinner yesterday. She wished she could just cuddle up to him and blushed at the thought. Then she looked at him. “Ingenious Transfiguration? You don’t think I’ve forgotten anything I’ve learned from you, do you, Albus?” She suddenly had a wicked grin on her face. Perhaps she could get what she wanted . . . it wasn’t quite sporting of her, but she would deal with her conscience later.

“I didn’t say that, Minerva –”

There was an almost inaudible pop and beside him sat a beautiful, proud tabby cat. Albus chuckled. “Well, I see you haven’t forgotten how to transform – not that I ever expected that you would have!” he added hastily when the cat beside him rotated a single ear and laid her whiskers back. Albus reached out and petted her, stroking her head and back. Minerva arched and stretched, then flopped down beside him and lay her head on his lap, luxuriating in the rare pleasure of having Albus pet her. She was shameless, she thought as she began to purr, eyes closed in feline bliss.

Albus wished he felt free to do this when Minerva was in her ordinary form. No, he didn’t! If he were to touch her like this, she would run screaming. Well, knowing Minerva, she’d probably hex him first, then run screaming. He sighed. He couldn’t blame her. What witch, young or otherwise, would want an old crock like him touching her? She hadn’t minded last night, he reminded himself. But that was different. She had viewed him as an old friend, emphasis on “old,” comforting her.

Without realising it, Minerva’s paws had begun to knead the air in front of her. Seeing that, Albus smiled and lifted her more fully onto his lap, and she kneaded his thigh through the two layers of silk. Hmm. Maybe that had not been a good idea. Albus was always aware that the tabby cat was Minerva. He could feel her magical signature as clearly when she was in her Animagus form as he could when she was in her ordinary form. Although he saw a tabby cat kneading his leg, he felt Minerva McGonagall massaging it – granted, it was a rather prickly massage, but it still was having an unfortunate effect upon him. Fortunately, before his problem became acute, Minerva stopped and rolled over, stretching. She curled her paws in front of her and looked up at him.

“Hmm, yes, Minerva, you have perfected the ‘I’m-a-cute-little-kitten and don’t-you-want-to-rub-my-tummy so-I-can-turn-into-a-fierce-predator’ act. You don’t have me fooled!” Nonetheless, Albus gave in and rubbed her soft tummy, only to have his arm grabbed. Minerva kicked his arm a few times, very gently, before letting go.

“Now, I think you have proven your point, Minerva,” Albus said with a smile. “You haven’t lost your ingenuity.”

Minerva yawned and stretched. It was lovely to be a cat. Rules of etiquette were quite different when one was a cat. Mid-stretch, she transformed back to her ordinary form and immediately blushed to find herself lying with her head in Albus’s lap. She sat up quickly. Too quickly, as she banged him in the chin on the way up and then proceeded to roll off the couch with a thump.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Albus asked with a broad smile, looking down at Minerva as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.

“It’s much easier when you’re a cat,” she grumbled.

Albus couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. I shouldn’t laugh!”

She grinned up at him as he reached out to help her up. Settled back on the couch, Minerva pushed a stray hair from her face. Her carefully constructed bun must be coming down, she thought. “That’s what you get when you taunt me about my Transfiguration skills, Albus.”

“I shall bear that in mind, then. I do remember the embarrassment you inflicted upon Madame Feuilly at Beauxbatons. Quite vividly. I am sure that everyone else who was present that day does, too.” He tried to maintain a straight face, but his blue eyes twinkled with merriment.

Minerva laughed. She hadn’t thought of that in a long time. Fed up with the Ministry, Minerva had decided to apply for an apprenticeship in Transfiguration. She was a little older than most usually were when they started, but after consulting with Albus, she had been sure that she would be able to get a decent apprenticeship and finish it within a year or so, rather than the standard two or three years – although the Master determined, within certain limitations, when the apprentice could apply to be admitted to fully Mastery, Albus had assured her that at her current level of accomplishment, any Master worth his wand could bring her up to Master level within a year or so.

Minerva soon found, however, that Masters didn’t want an apprentice who already came in knowing as much as she did. They relied on having an apprentice for at least two years, and they saw it as hardly worth their effort to work with a witch who would arrive at Master level in half that time. Minerva had swallowed hard and begun to offer to include a minimum two-year term in her contract, but recent changes in international wizarding law made such a clause unenforceable: if a witch or wizard had reached Master level and their Master refused to present them for examination, the witch or wizard had recourse to an expedited and efficient grievance system. Masters could no longer exploit clearly qualified apprentices by keeping them on past the point at which their training should be complete. This meant that no matter what Minerva was willing to put in the contract, she could not sign away her right to grieve if a Master did not present her at the end of a year, if she were ready to qualify at that time. No Master was willing to take Minerva’s word for it that she would not take advantage of that right.

Albus had offered to assist her in finding a suitable placement, but Minerva had proudly refused, feeling it would have been cheating in some way. Finally, the Transfiguration Mistress at Beauxbatons had offered to take her; she was willing to have an apprentice for twelve to eighteen months. Albus had looked somewhat dubious when Minerva had met him in a café in Edinburgh to give him the news. Madame Feuilly was not the most talented Transfiguration Mistress in Europe, but she was willing to take Minerva, and so Minerva was willing to study under someone who was less talented than her former Transfiguration teacher.

Unfortunately, “less talented” was a kind understatement. Feuilly was competent at performing Transfiguration spells. Barely. She understood the rudiments of Transfiguration theory. Rudiments that Minerva had mastered by her fourth year at Hogwarts. Her method of teaching at Beauxbatons consisted of assigning rote memorisation of the text book and a very unimaginative and basic series of practical exercises. No one at Beauxbatons had taken the French equivalent of a NEWT in Transfiguration in more than ten years, and few students studied Transfiguration after the first four years required by the school.

Needless to say, Minerva was extremely unhappy once the reality of the situation hit her. The only way that she could be allowed out of the apprenticeship early would be if Madame Feuilly agreed to release her. Which she refused to do. Feuilly justified herself by saying, correctly, that no other Master would consider taking a witch who had been previously released from an apprenticeship. Minerva felt resigned to reading and grading very dull student essays on very dull topics written in very poor French. The two women avoided each other, and Madame Feuilly did not even make a pretense of attempting to teach Minerva anything, for which Minerva was very glad. If Feuilly had been capable of learning anything, Minerva could have taught her.

One day, in Beauxbatons’ excellent library, Minerva ran across something called the “Apprentice’s Challenge.” It was an old tradition that had never been abolished, although no one had used it in Transfiguration for more than two hundred fifty years. Essentially, the apprentice challenged her Master to a duel – not a combat, but a competition. There were set spells that each had to perform in front of an audience, followed by a free-form challenge. The competition would be judged by three other Masters from the same field and two Masters from unrelated fields. If three of the five judged the apprentice to be “more fit” than the Master, the apprentice was released. This did not mean that the apprentice received Mastery, but it would mean that Minerva would be freed from what she considered an intolerable situation. She knew it would be unlikely that she would ever be accepted by another Master after such a performance, but decided that she had nothing to lose.

Proud of her daughter, Egeria still kept the clippings from the Daily Prophet, Transfiguration Today, and the French wizarding newspaper, Le Voyant Clair. The newspapers were not kind to the French Transfiguration Mistress. To have called Minerva’s victory a rout would have been insufficient. Minerva felt slightly bad afterwards; Madame Feuilly was completely humiliated and left Beauxbatons at the end of the school year never to return. Feuilly had brought it on herself, Minerva reasoned. Right up to the point at which Minerva had made the formal Challenge, Feuilly could have been reasonable and released Minerva, but she hadn’t. Once the Challenge was issued, there was no going back. Minerva had given Madame Feuilly the three written warnings required by custom, and had also spoken with her personally, practically begging the older woman to see sense and release her before she made the Challenge. Minerva never knew if Feuilly had simply believed that Minerva would never go through with it, or if she had believed that the competition would be rigged in her favour by the other Masters, or if she genuinely (and quite naively) believed that she could defeat Minerva.

One fortunate side effect of Minerva’s Challenge, however, was that Beauxbatons began producing students who were well-trained in Transfiguration. Minerva had met two of them who were visiting London on holiday. She was working in the Office of Experimental Transfiguration when a colleague stuck his head through her door and told her that two French girls were looking for her. At least he thought they were looking for her – they didn’t know her last name and had just said they were looking for “Minerve, la grande dame de la metamorphosis.” Minerva was embarrassed when they came in and gawked at her. They were fifth-year Transfiguration students at Beauxbatons and had heard the “legend” of how the previous teacher had been driven away by the English Transfiguration apprentice, “Minerve,” and thus created a new era of Transfiguration studies at their school. They were surprised that “Minerve” was so young – at sixteen, they thought anything that had happened before they arrived at the school had to be ancient history.

Sitting there in her room at Hogwarts, laughing with Albus, Minerva felt as though it really had been ancient history, and that nothing that had happened before that moment mattered. He was so handsome, blue eyes twinkling as he smiled at her. Yes, if she could maintain this friendship with him, she would be happy, Minerva thought. It would be enough, more than she deserved, and she would be lucky to have it. She ignored her present longing to throw her arms around him as she laughed – to hold him not out of any sexual desire, but just out of her sense of joy and love for him. Yes, she would make this friendship suffice. It was more than she could have hoped for. Albus brought joy into her life; she would learn how to overcome any pain arising from the necessity of retaining a greater distance from him than she desired. And his happiness was paramount. If there were anything that made him happy, Minerva would be happy for him. Even if his happiness resided in another person. . . .

Albus smiled at Minerva and thought that nothing mattered if Minerva were here at Hogwarts with him. It had caused him trouble with the Board of Governors when he refused to hire a new Transfiguration teacher after he had become Headmaster. It was not the most propitious way to begin his relationship with the Board, but it also had given him the opportunity to assert his authority as Headmaster and win. And now he had his dear Minerva here. She seemed to be happy in his company – just as he was in hers, Albus thought, with the understanding, of course, that his happiness was mixed with other feelings that she certainly did not possess. But this, yes, this was worth putting aside his own discomfort, to be able to spend time with her. It would be enough, more than he could expect.

They heard a rap at the door, then the knight lumbered through the landscape frame, followed by his dog. The knight bowed, and the dog barked.

Catching her breath, Minerva said, “I’m not expecting anyone. If that knight wasn’t so useless, he could tell me who it is.” She pushed herself up off the couch. “Excuse me just a minute, Albus.”

When Minerva opened the door to her, Poppy could see that any worries she had about her friend were for naught. Minerva was pink-cheeked and smiling, hair straggling out from her bun, and behind her, Poppy could see Albus sitting, head half-turned toward the door, on the sofa, and the remains of the couple’s breakfast on the table by the window.

“Good morning, Minerva. I came by to see how you were and ask if you’d had your breakfast yet, but I see that you have,” said Poppy with a smile and a quirked eyebrow.

“Yes, the Headmaster and I just had breakfast. We are meeting now about, um, Hogwarts.”

“I came by last night to see if you were all right,” Poppy said in a low voice, “but you weren’t in. I was a little worried, especially since you weren’t at dinner.”

“I was meeting with the Headmaster,” Minerva responded quietly. “We missed dinner.”

“I see.” Poppy looked past Minerva at the remains of the breakfast. She grinned broadly. “I see! Well, we’ll just have to get together later.” In a louder voice, she said, “I’m sorry to have interrupted your meeting, Albus. ’Bye, Minerva!” Poppy winked at her friend.

Suddenly realising the conclusion that Poppy must have drawn, Minerva blushed. “I will talk to you later, Poppy. I’ll come by the hospital wing. Good bye.” Minerva shut the door without waiting for a response, and leaned on it. Her face was burning with embarrassment, and Albus would notice and want to know why.

“It’s nice that you have such a good friend, Minerva,” Albus said from his place on the couch. “It was good of her to come by and check on you. When I saw her yesterday afternoon, she had said she would drop by to see you in the evening. I didn’t think to mention it to you.” When Minerva didn’t turn around, Albus got up and came around the couch. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Albus. It’s just that . . . that it all reminded me of yesterday morning, that’s all.” Minerva turned, relieved that she had found a plausible excuse for her embarrassment.

“Oh, my dear, I do hope you are able to look back at that and laugh someday. It really wasn’t so horrible, you know. Just think, we wouldn’t have had dinner last night – or breakfast this morning – if it weren’t for our mutual indiscretions.”

Minerva gaped at him. “Mutual? You didn’t do anything! You keep acting as though everything was your fault. Even last night, you would not let me apologise properly.” Forgetting that her distress about the incident was supposed to be feigned, just a cover for her embarrassment that Poppy had thought that she and Albus had, had . . . had spent uninterrupted time together since dinner yesterday, Minerva now became genuinely upset. “How am I supposed to look back and laugh when it still makes me cringe to think about it?”

Albus didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say that he was sorry, but it seemed that Minerva didn’t want to hear that. “Perhaps it would help if you talked about it?” he offered.

Minerva sighed. They had been having a nice time, and she had to ruin it. “I don’t know, Albus.”

He took her arm gently. “Come, sit with me, Minerva.” As he said that, it occurred to him that he would have to be very careful and not do anything unwise.

Note: still too long for the system -- this continues in the very next post!

[MMADfan]

Part XL: Breakfast with Albus, Breakfast with Minerva, continued

They resumed the places they had occupied before Poppy had arrived. Albus stayed quiet. He knew that he had a tendency to want to “fix” everything, but it seemed that he could not fix this, and that it might be best for Minerva if he just let her talk.

“Albus, I want you to understand that I really do appreciate everything you did yesterday. The dinner was wonderful, your apology . . . it meant more to me than you can possibly imagine. And I know that you planned it that way in order to please me, to show me that you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. But Albus, you never gave me a genuine opportunity to apologise for what you overheard me say.” Albus opened his mouth as if to speak, but Minerva held up her hand. “Please let me finish what I have to say this morning. I let you interrupt me last night every time I tried to apologise, but I won’t this morning. You can say what you like when I’m done.”

Albus nodded. Minerva sighed and closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. It was so difficult to apologise when you could only reveal a small portion of your feelings.

“Albus, you know that what I said, I said in the heat of the moment, after a long build up. You know that I felt . . . neglected, I suppose, or that you didn’t respect me.” She looked up at him. Albus remained silent, listening to her attentively. “I certainly had no right to feel neglected or have any expectations from you except that you would treat me as a Headmaster treats one of his teachers, and I know now, of course, that you did not act out of any disrespect for me, either. It’s just that, you know how a person can have certain hopes and expectations when they start something new, well I came to Hogwarts with certain hopes and expectations, and it seemed that . . . .” Here, Minerva swallowed and gathered her courage. “It seemed that my greatest hope, which I had feared was unrealistic, had been completely foolish.” Minerva looked at her hands, which she had been wringing in her lap. She stilled them with some effort, but did not look up. “I had hoped that we might continue our friendship. That we might become . . . better friends, I suppose. And my hope was raised after you came to the house-warming that Poppy had for me. I didn’t harbour any illusions that we would be able to see each other like that all of the time once term started, of course. But I felt that I never saw you at all. And it got so that I would look forward to every meeting we had scheduled – not that there were many of them – no matter what the subject, and yet you were late to every one of them.”

Minerva’s voice had fallen to a whisper. “I know that you have apologised and explained, Albus. And you needn’t apologise again. I understand, and it’s all right. I accepted your apology immediately and without any reservations. I am just trying to explain to you – and to myself – my state of mind yesterday morning. I was hurt and angry – and I should have talked to you earlier, I know. But as I said last night, each incident seemed too petty to become upset over, and I care about you so much, I did not want to seem to be demanding anything of you. After I left your office yesterday morning, I just kept going over in my head every little thing that you hadn’t done, and I forgot all of the wonderful things you have done for me – not just in the last six months, but ever since I have known you. By the time I had finished telling Poppy about your rescheduling our appointment because you had to meet with Gertrude and then condition your beard, I had worked myself into quite a state.”

Minerva swallowed and looked up at Albus again, who was gazing at her with a knitted brow. “I want you to know two things at least, Albus, and please, please believe me. First, I have never said anything like that about you before to anyone – not even just to myself. And second, I would never, ever want to hurt your feelings. I can only imagine what you felt when you heard what I said, especially since you refuse to talk to me about it. And that’s all right. You don’t need to if you don’t want to. But I want you to know that I care for you so, I would rather cut out my tongue than think I would ever deliberately say anything that would hurt you. I am very sorry, Albus. Please forgive me.”

Albus cleared his throat and blinked hard. Tears had come into his eyes during the last part of Minerva’s apology. “Minerva. Of course. You know that I forgave any hurt you might have inadvertently caused me, even before we met at lunch.” He cleared his throat again and reached a hand out to one of hers. A sense of relief flooded him when she took it.

“You say that I refused to talk to you about how I felt. But that’s not it. I just could see that I had caused you a far greater hurt, and much more directly. You did not know that I was standing there, listening to what you were saying. And although I did not deliberately set out to hurt you, my actions were of a very different nature. It was easy to forgive you, my dear Minerva. Since you seem to need to know how I felt when I overheard what you said, I did feel stunned and hurt. I had no idea that . . . well, I feared that you might . . . . You must know that I care for you, Minerva, and for a moment I feared that everything I had believed . . . I feared . . . .” For all that Albus had claimed that he was no longer affected by what Minerva had said, he seemed unable to articulate what he had feared.

“You feared that I was so angry that we weren’t friends any longer? Or that I didn’t care for you?” asked Minerva.

Albus nodded, looking at their joined hands. Somehow while he had been talking, Minerva had taken his other hand in hers and held them both. “I thought you might even – and I know this will sound ridiculous, it did to me even as I feared it – but I thought you might even . . . hate me,” he ended in an embarrassed whisper. How could he be the wizard who defeated Grindelwald, he wondered, when he could barely force out those absurd words?

“Oh, Albus!” Minerva let go of his hands, and Albus felt suddenly bereft until he discovered himself in her embrace. “Oh, Albus, I could never hate you. You are right,” she said, drawing back slightly to look at him, “it does sound ridiculous. But that’s all right, because I had the same fear, you know.” She smiled at him.

Albus found his arms around her. He held her close and shut his eyes. Oh, she was wonderful, wonderful. He lay his cheek against her forehead and just held her. “I think I like it when you apologise. I should have let you do it last night,” he whispered. Minerva seemed to melt against him.

“Last night was your turn; this morning is mine,” she replied. Oh, God, she didn’t want to let him go. And he didn’t seem to mind. Finally, Minerva forced herself to sit back away from him, though she left her arms loosely at his sides. “I don’t suppose we should insult each other just so that we can do that again,” she said with a slight smile. She was not sure she should have said it, it came out before she could stop herself, but Albus smiled in response.

“No, my dear, I think that the next time, we should skip the insults.” He wanted to add, and proceed directly to the embrace, but he didn’t.

“Well, I must look quite a mess by now, my hair, especially,” she said, trying to change the subject.

“Your hair is lovely, Minerva. Although perhaps not as . . . perfect as it was earlier.”

Minerva smiled and could feel a slight blush creep into her cheeks. “I still think I should take a minute to fix it. And we should probably get another pot of tea, don’t you think?” Without waiting for his reply, she stood and called, “Blampa!”

Blampa appeared with a sharp pop. “Yes, Professor Minerva? How may Blampa serve?”

“Blampa, we would like a fresh pot of tea, and you may clear the breakfast things, except for the scones, butter and marmalade – unless you’d like anything else, Albus? – yes, and you may leave the ginger newts, as well.”

“Did Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster have a nice breakfast?” Blampa asked.

Minerva found Blampa a house-elf of many contradictions. She was terrified of doing anything wrong, cringed and whinged whenever she thought she’d displeased Minerva, and yet here she was asking whether their breakfast had been nice. She supposed it was a new way Blampa had to fish for compliments.

“Yes, Blampa, it was very good. Thank you. You did a good job.”

Blampa bounced with happiness. “Good, good! Now I, Blampa, get Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster very nice tea! Yes! Yes!” With a final shout of “Yes!” Blampa popped out and was followed by all of the used breakfast dishes.

“So, that is the house-elf that Wilspy spoke of last night.”

“Mmm. Did you notice she brought ginger newts for our breakfast? I am going to have to explain to her that ginger newts are not required at every meal, I believe.”

“Does she always refer to herself that way?” Albus asked with an amused smile.

“That’s new. I am trying to get her to speak more properly; that is as far as we have gotten. The contrast is a bit peculiar, isn’t it – her high, squeeking voice and that somewhat pompous sounding ‘I, Blampa’?” Minerva grinned. “Well, I’m going to make myself more presentable. I’ll just be a minute, Albus.”

“That’s fine, my dear. I won’t go anywhere!” He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but he couldn’t. She wasn’t the type to go about hugging everyone, so Albus doubted there was much danger that Minerva would hug him again for a long while, but if she did, he would have to discourage her. It was too difficult for him to hold her and then let her go. Not to mention that he was wary of having his not-so-little “problem” pop up again. That would be disastrous. She may care about him and not wish to hurt him, but he knew that if she had any inkling of the true nature of his feelings, she would not want to have anything to do with him. Even worse, Minerva might pity him, poor, pathetic old sod that he was. Albus could not bear the thought that she might pity him as a decrepit fool in his dotage. He would have to learn how to live with his feelings and take control of his body without having to resort to Cooling Charms, that was all there was to it.

Note: I hope you enjoyed this!

[Hogwarts Duo]

I'm very glad to see that things are progressing for our dear couple and that Minerva was given the chance to properly explain herself and make amends.

Looking forward to the next update...

[Gemmie Lou]

i loved that update so cute xxxxxxxxxx

[PiER]

I just couldn't wait for you to update at ff.net.
Well Gertie's owl was a bolt out of the blue! And I liked the way Albus broke it down and analysed the owl, cleverly reading between the lines. Though I do wonder what Gertie has up her sleeve...
And Poppy jumping to conclusions was just brilliant!
I'm in need of another update...

PiER

[MMADfan]

pier said:

I just couldn't wait for you to update at ff.net.
Well Gertie's owl was a bolt out of the blue! And I liked the way Albus broke it down and analysed the owl, cleverly reading between the lines. Though I do wonder what Gertie has up her sleeve...
And Poppy jumping to conclusions was just brilliant!
I'm in need of another update...

How flattering! I am probably going to upload to ffnet at least a portion of that installment tonight. Of course, you're always welcome to come on over here and read the story!

Thanks for your reviews here & at ffnet!

-MMADfan

[MMADfan]

hogwartsduo said:

I'm very glad to see that things are progressing for our dear couple and that Minerva was given the chance to properly explain herself and make amends.

Yes -- and her incorrect conclusions about why Albus was so quiet --

durc09 said:

i loved that update so cute xxxxxxxxxx

Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

[elivania]

Oh my lord. Just brilliant. I loved all of it. It is very nice to see their feelings start to collide and it's building towards a great revelation. Awsome job as usual!

*Eli*

[MMADfan]

Part XLI: A Question of Staffing

Minerva sat at her dressing table. Her hair wasn’t the complete disaster she had thought it was. The braid had helped. Using her wand, she took her hair down completely, then brushed it out. Thinking of her unceremonious return to her ordinary form, she smiled and shook her head slightly. At least Albus had a sense of humour about that. But then Poppy had to show up before she had gathered herself together. Of course, it wasn’t just Minerva’s slightly frowsy appearance that had Poppy adding two plus two and coming up with five. She could have concluded the same thing after seeing the breakfast dishes. Minerva shouldn’t have said anything about having spent the evening with Albus.

As Minerva picked up her wand to style her hair, she felt miffed at Poppy. Really, that wink! Any normal witch would never have thought that his mere presence in Minerva’s rooms that morning after they’d spent the evening together meant that they hadn’t parted in the meantime. He was the Headmaster! And more than three times her age. Just because Minerva’s own feelings didn’t seem to take those little factors into account didn’t mean that Poppy shouldn’t have kept them in mind. She probably thought that Minerva was desperate for male company and had taken advantage of the Headmaster. How insulting to Albus! As though Minerva would use him that way – or as though he would allow such a thing! Minerva would have to have a talk with Poppy this afternoon. Straighten out her thinking on a few things.

Albus was not the type for a casual fling. At least not in the years Minerva had known him. Perhaps when he was a young man. She realised that she knew very little about what Albus had done and what he had been like before she had met him. Minerva thought of the book on Animagus Transfiguration he had given her at the end of her fifth-year. He had told her he was young when he wrote it, but she realised at some point that year, after learning he had been at school with her Great-uncle Perseus, that he must have been in his fifties at the time – hardly “young” by most people’s standards. What had he done before he came to Hogwarts, and what had he given up in order to do so? Minerva remembered that Albus had said he originally thought he would be at the school for only six or seven years. It had now been twenty, and he was Headmaster. It was unlikely that he would be leaving the school anytime soon. Many Headmasters and Headmistresses died in the post. Poor Headmaster Dippet had died just months before he had planned to retire. Thinking of Headmasters dying in their posts created a constriction in Minerva’s chest. Albus was old. He could die at any time. The normal lifespan of a healthy wizard could range anywhere from one hundred to one hundred sixty years old. She could lose him any day.

Minerva swallowed hard. She must not think gloomy thoughts; she had to rejoin Albus in just a minute. She would make sure he took good care of himself; she could do that. Poppy always said that he drove himself too hard and took on too much. Minerva felt a pang of conscience. She had complained bitterly about how he had always been late for their meetings, but she hadn’t drawn the obvious conclusion that he was over-worked and was trying to fit too much into his day. And he had a hard time saying “no” when he was asked for his help, Minerva was sure. Albus was a strong enough – and brilliant enough – wizard to be able to take on the work of several ordinary wizards, and people just took him for granted. It was part of his image as the unassailable icon of the wizarding world – he had defeated Grindelwald and then returned to Hogwarts the next week, after all! Dumbledore could do anything, some people thought.

These thoughts increased Minerva’s irritation with Poppy – and with herself. Albus was not only not the type to have flings, it wouldn’t be good for him at his age! He was probably not even interested in that sort of thing anymore. Of course, Albus was a man, he might still feel the occasional . . . “urge” now and then. It was biology, after all. Not that Minerva would want a fling with him. That would be dreadful. How would she ever get over it once it ended? She no longer had any illusions that her feelings for Albus would just go away on their own. A brief, meaningless affair would only make things far worse, not to mention that it would make their current friendship awkward, if not impossible.

Minerva made a quick trip to the loo before returning to the sitting room. She had been gone for less than ten minutes, but Albus had fallen asleep on her couch. Minerva didn’t think he looked particularly comfortable partially reclined against the arm of the settee. The fresh tea was sitting on the coffee table. Albus hadn’t drunk any of it yet. Perhaps he had fallen asleep before it had arrived, or else he had been waiting for her to return. Minerva hesitated. Albus might need his sleep, but she doubted he would be very happy to wake up and discover that he had lost part of his day. It sounded as though he had a lot of work to do that afternoon.

Although she had decided she should wake Albus, Minerva took advantage of the moment just to look at him. Over the years that she had known him, his hair had turned from auburn and grey to just grey, and now it was becoming grey with a good deal of white. She loved his hair, and the older he became, the more beautiful it was. His glasses were resting on the coffee table. He had been wearing them when she had left the room. Albus had probably decided to rest his eyes for a moment and then fell asleep, she thought. The crook in his nose was more evident when he removed his glasses, and Minerva had always thought that it gave his sharp nose character. The furrows in Albus’s brow were deeper than they had been when she was a student, but there were no more than there had been then, and his skin still looked supple and healthy, his cheeks lightly pink. His lips . . . for some reason, Minerva loved Albus’s lips. She supposed that objectively, they were nothing special, but somehow their shape and the proportion of his lower lip to his upper were perfection. His beard . . . .

Albus had a magnificent beard. Full and soft looking, it reached his belt and was nicely shaped at the end. It was a bit rougher than it appeared to be, but not by very much. Minerva had loved the way it felt against her cheek last night as he held her. Albus’s over-robe had fallen open as he reclined on the couch, and with appreciation, Minerva could see his broad shoulders and powerful torso tapering down to slim hips, the cummerbund emphasizing the contrast between his solid, well-built chest and his narrower waist.

Warmth crept through Minerva. She shouldn’t be looking at him like this. It wasn’t right. But she didn’t simply desire him; she loved him. Heart and soul, body and mind, with the full depth and breadth of her being. She could acknowledge that now. She had to. With that acknowledgment, she could gain some measure of control over her reactions to him and some control over her life. Taking herself in hand now, she approached the couch and bent over him.

“Albus, Albus, dear,” Minerva called, placing a chaste hand on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her.

“I’m sorry to awaken you, but I didn’t think you would want to sleep,” she explained.

“Thank you, Minerva. I had just wanted to rest my eyes for a moment.”

“You should try to have an early night, Albus. You need to take care of yourself.”

Albus straightened and sat up. “We shall see. I do have a lot of work that won’t do itself.”

“You know, Albus, you don’t need to take on everything that everyone asks of you,” Minerva said, sitting beside him.

“That would be an impossibility, my dear. I already must disappoint a great many people, I am afraid. However, I do agree that perhaps I should pay more attention to my priorities in the future. You among them,” he added with a smile.

“You needn’t worry about me, Albus. I’m a grown witch. My behaviour yesterday was disgraceful, and I have been very self-centred. You really must not overextend yourself. You will be no good to anyone if you make yourself ill.”

“Yes, Mother McGonagall! I shall remember that. In the meantime, perhaps we could proceed with the purpose of our meeting?”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“I realised after you left the room that the materials you brought with you last night are still in my office. I don’t believe that a discussion of the seventh-year curriculum is urgent, so we don’t need to do it this very moment, although I don’t want to delay too much, either. I know that tomorrow is Saturday, and you probably have plans for your week-end, but if you decide to accept Gertie’s invitation, you will be gone next week. Would you have any objections to meeting tomorrow to go over the curriculum, and this morning we could just discuss the other issues I wanted your thoughts about?”

“No, that sounds fine, Albus. I had nothing specific planned for tomorrow, anyway. Shall I pour us some tea?”

After they had settled with their tea, Albus turned to her with a serious expression.

“You know, of course, that this was Professor Dustern’s last year and that we have been looking for a new Charms teacher. Whilst her resignation did not come as a surprise – in fact, I thought she would have left at the end of last year and actually had a replacement in mind before she told me that she was leaving – her departure leaves us with no Head of House for Hufflepuff. The Charms Master I have offered the position to was a Ravenclaw as a student, and Hogwarts requires that the Head of House be a member of that House. In addition, Professor Grubbly-Plank informed me a few days ago that she has been offered a position at the Welsh Green Sanctuary. Although her contract takes her through the end of the next year, I am inclined to release her early. Such opportunities are not to be had every day, and I do not want to stand in the way of her career. Still, she must give them an answer in a fortnight, and she must be able to take up the position no later than December 31, or the offer is void. This unexpected development means that we need to find a teacher for Care of Magical Creatures and a Head of House for Gryffindor.” Albus paused to sip his tea.

“I didn’t realise that you were so well-prepared for Professor Dustern’s resignation, Albus. I was surprised to learn that she was leaving.”

“Professor Dustern and I have always had a civil relationship. When I was Deputy Headmaster, we had a few . . . differences of opinion occasionally, but we worked them out professionally. Despite that, I have always been aware that if I became Headmaster, she would likely leave at the first opportunity. I was more surprised by the fact that she finished her contract term and did not ask to be allowed to resign earlier. Perhaps it was loyalty to the school, or to her House, or perhaps she wanted to see if she could bear working here with me as Headmaster.” Albus was amused by the shocked expression on Minerva’s face.

“You mean she doesn’t like you?”

“Not everyone does, you know, Minerva,” Albus said with a grin.

“Yes, but, well, I thought anyone who didn’t like you either had to be a complete fool or allied with the Dark. And I never saw anything to indicate that she didn’t like you.”

“Mmm. We got along well enough for a while. But she had difficulties with some decisions I took during my first few years here, and that set the tone for our other interactions. But Professor Dustern is a professional, Minerva. She never would have broadcast her feelings on the subject, especially not to a student. I am sure she has had a few choice words to say about me in private on occasion, though,” he chuckled.

Minerva flushed, thinking of her own unprofessional and indiscreet behaviour the previous morning. Of course, Poppy was right. She had only allowed herself to go on like that because she didn’t believe that there was anyone to overhear.

“I’m not sure I understand why her leaving is a problem for Hufflepuff House, though. You say that the Head has to be a member of the House, but Professor Birnbaum didn’t even attend Hogwarts,” Minerva said, puzzled.

“That turns out to have been the result of a fortuitous joke. Well, not a joke, precisely. But one night after a few drinks with Armando, some of us thought it would be fun to have a private Sorting Ceremony for Johannes. We all trooped up to the Headmaster’s Office, set the Sorting Hat on Johannes’s head, and with nary a hesitation, the Hat shouted out, ‘Ravenclaw!’ When we needed a Head of House for Ravenclaw a few years later, he seemed the natural choice. A few members of the Board of Governors were unhappy – they didn’t think he could be a ‘true Ravenclaw’ if he hadn’t been a student in their House – but the House Roll listed him as its Head, which it wouldn’t have done if he were unacceptable, and he has done well there ever since. However, that brings me to the next staff change. Professor Birnbaum has told me, informally, that at the end of the next school year, he will not be returning. He thinks it is time for him to return to Germany and put together a new life there. He has stayed far longer than he had intended to when he came here in 1943. I understand that. But that means we have to conduct a search for a new Herbology teacher, as well.”

“But at least we have more time with that position. And if the new Charms teacher is a Ravenclaw, perhaps he would be interested in being their Head of House. He’ll have a year of teaching and know the students by then. Who is it, by the way? Do I know him?”

“Filius Flitwick. Good-hearted, down-to-earth, and he has a lot of experience, as well.”

“I think I’ve heard the name . . . didn’t he work at the Ministry in Experimental Charms for a while?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, although he was in another area by the time you started.”

Minerva recognised the euphemism “in another area”; it was what people at the Ministry said when someone had been moved into the Department of Mysteries. Someone’s employment in that Department was not necessarily a secret, but people didn’t talk about it casually, either.

“He must be good, then. I look forward to meeting him.”

“But you do see the quandary we’re in, don’t you? We have a surfeit of Slytherins, a few Ravenclaws, and very few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.”

Minerva ran through the list in her head:

-Potions, Slughorn, Slytherin (obviously);
-Arithmancy, Gertrude Gamp, Slytherin;
-Herbology, Birnbaum, Ravenclaw;
-Magical Creatures, Grubbly-Plank, Gryffindor;
-Charms, Flitwick, Ravenclaw;
-History, Binns – well, she didn’t know what House Binns had been in, but as he was now a ghost, he would hardly be an appropriate Head of House;
-Astronomy, Herder, Ravenclaw;
-Divination, MacAirt, Hufflepuff, possibly, though she wasn’t sure;
-Defence, Pretnick, Gryffindor – there was a possibility to take over for Wilhemina, she supposed, although he was a bit peculiar;
-Ancient Runes, Evandras, Ravenclaw; and
-Muggle Studies, James – she didn’t know what House she had been in.

“Isn’t Pretnick Gryffindor?” she asked.

“Yes, he is, and I am very fond of Robert, but try to picture him as a Head of House. I don’t think that he possesses the correct disposition. Not that there is any one way to be a Head, of course. But . . . .” Albus did not want to speak ill of one of his staff, Minerva could see.

“He’s an odd duck, is what you’re saying, Albus. And rather quieter than most Gryffindors, but he may be our only option at the moment.”

“Our only option, Minerva?”

“Well, I don’t know what House James was in. He’s nice enough. Was he Gryffindor?” Many Muggle-borns were sorted into Gryffindor, for some reason, and Minerva had the impression that he was Muggle-born or, at least, that he had one Muggle parent. He wasn’t as much of an idiot as her own Muggle Studies teacher had been – Minerva had doubted the veracity of one half of what he’d taught and the accuracy of the other!

“Norman James was in Hufflepuff, actually. But he made it quite clear some time ago that he does not want to be Head of House. I will mention it to him, of course. Perhaps he has changed his mind or wouldn’t mind stepping in for a year or so, just temporarily.”

“Well, it seems that once we know who you’re hiring to take Wilhemina’s place, we’ll know what the options are for Gryffindor. And I suppose you’ll just have to talk to James – appeal to his House loyalty. What about MacAirt, though? She must have been a Hufflepuff.”

Albus laughed. “I do see that I will have to work on your preconceptions, Minerva. Hafrena MacAirt is a Slytherin.”

“Oh. There are a lot of them on the staff, aren’t there?” Minerva thought a moment. “What does Gertrude think?” As Deputy, surely she had a role to play in finding suitable candidates for staff positions.

“I told her she needn’t worry about it whilst on holiday, but she did say that she would think about it and send me her recommendations by Owl.”

That must have been what they had been discussing at lunch, then. But she had said something about not changing her mind. She must have been speaking of something else at that point. Emboldened by the fact that Albus was consulting her, Minerva decided to ask about it.

“Before Gertrude left yesterday, she said something about not changing her mind. What did she mean?”

Albus hesitated, drinking the last of his tea. “It was another matter. Until she comes to a final decision, I think I’d rather not go into it, if you don’t mind, Minerva.” He smiled at her. “We do have enough to discuss already, don’t we?”

“All right. I was just a little curious. Back to the matter at hand, then.” Minerva was surprised that Albus was reluctant to tell her what Gertrude had been talking about. But if he didn’t want to discuss it, she had told herself more than once that their business was their own, and she wasn’t going to press him about it. “Do you have any ideas for recruiting to fill the Magical Creatures position? I agree with you that it seems unfair to deprive Wilhemina of this opportunity. Do you have someone in mind?” Perhaps Albus knew someone he thought would suit the position, as he had in the case of the Charms post.

“No. I have given it a great deal of thought, of course, and while a few names have come to mind, none are exceptional enough to justify a closed recruitment. I think we should advertise in the professional journals and see what kind of applicants respond. I have a list of journals in my office that I thought would be likely to reach the sort of person we might want. Could you come by my office later today and look at it? There may be one or two that I have missed, and I'd like to submit the advertisements on Monday.”

Minerva doubted that very much, but didn’t say so, and agreed to stop by his office that afternoon.

“Good. I will leave it out for you, in case I am not there when you arrive. You could retrieve your curriculum materials, as well, while you are there. In the meantime, I’d like you to think about the current staffing situation and tomorrow when we meet, you can let me know if you have any ideas.” Albus smiled at her. He was surprised that she hadn’t offered to take Gryffindor House herself. He might have to come right out and suggest it to her. It didn’t seem as though the idea had even occurred to her. Rather endearing, actually. He felt slightly bad about not answering her question about Gertrude’s remark at lunch, but thought it for the best at the moment. After all, if nothing changed in their situation, there would be nothing to inform Minerva of.

“That’s fine, Albus. I’d be happy to contribute whatever I can, you know that.”

“Would you mind going through the applications when they begin to arrive, then? A first sort-through to eliminate any obviously unsuitable candidates?”

“No, not at all, Albus. But isn’t that the sort of thing that Gertrude usually does for you?”

“As you know, I handled your recruitment personally. And although Gertie took over the correspondence once Filius agreed to take the Charms position, I had my own ‘short list’ of preferred candidates. Since Filius was my top choice, there was no need to do anything else. So I suppose that we haven’t got a system for dealing with filling vacant positions”

Minerva thought that was not very organised of them, but didn’t say so. She also thought that if Gertie was the great friend that Albus claimed she was, she would have volunteered to do more to help him. But of course, if she had, then Albus wouldn’t have asked Minerva to help, and Minerva certainly did not want to discourage him.

“Well, as I said, Albus, I will be happy to help in whatever way I can.”

“Thank you, my dear. Now I must be going, I’m afraid. I might be able to get through some of my other work before lunch if I am diligent about it,” he said with a smile.

“It was nice having breakfast with you. I’m sorry we still haven’t discussed the seventh-year classes, but it was good that we got a chance to talk, I think,” said Minerva.

“Yes, it was. And perhaps we can do this again. Breakfast, I mean, before the day has begun making its usual demands on us.”

“I would like that very much, Albus.” Minerva smiled with pleasure as she showed Albus to the door. “I will stop by your office later this afternoon, then, to look at that list. Will I see you at lunch?”

“Possibly. I am not sure. I may need to leave at some point, or I may just have a bite in my office. But I will see you tomorrow – just drop by. I should be in my office or my rooms most of the day. If I step out, I’ll leave a message for you with the portraits letting you know where you can find me. How would that be?”

“That sounds fine.”

Minerva was holding the open door for him. Albus hesitated. Simply saying good-bye seemed so inadequate, not to mention that, although his work called to him, he really did not want to leave.

“This truly was lovely, Minerva. Thank you for all the trouble you went to.”

“It was no trouble at all, Albus. I hardly cooked the breakfast myself, after all.” She smiled, glad he had enjoyed himself.

“Perhaps not, but your company . . . thank you, my dear.” As he had the evening before, Albus took her right hand in his and raised it to his lips. This time, though, he did not release her hand as he straightened. His voice low, he said, “I am glad I overheard your complaints to Poppy yesterday, however you might feel about it, Minerva. Whatever else I might have been doing, I had been depriving myself of your company, and that was a great deprivation, indeed.” Albus squeezed her hand slightly and released it, overcoming the urge to step closer to her, to kiss her forehead or her cheek. Instead he stepped backward through the open door, then turned and walked quickly away.

There will be more to come!

[elivania]

Aw! Just when we get the MMAD goodness it goes away. *pouts*

Awsome job. I nearly died of laughter when Poppy entered in the previous post. And I LOVED your observations of Ablus. Really great! *Eli*

[MMADfan]

elivania said:

Aw! Just when we get the MMAD goodness it goes away. *pouts*

But don't you want more MMAD-ness later? ;D It has not been a smooth road for them to get this far, after all, so there will be a few more little bumps along the way.

elivania said:

Awsome job. I nearly died of laughter when Poppy entered in the previous post. And I LOVED your observations of Ablus. Really great! *Eli*

Yeah -- I think Poppy has some new ideas about what might have been bothering Minerva! ;D

Glad you liked it!

[MMADfan]

Part XLII: Speculation

Minerva stood and looked after him for a moment as Albus strode away down the narrow hallway that led to the broader main corridor. She closed the door, turned, and leaned back against it. He truly took her breath away. If only she were fifty years or so older, she thought, and had met him when he was younger. They might have been suited to each other, then. Minerva thought that perhaps she might have been able to nurture his friendly affection until it became something more. But she hadn’t been born fifty years earlier. That would have made her about the same age as her mother, Minerva mused. Perhaps even then, she would have been born too late. Albus had been in his mid-thirties when her mother was born.

Minerva shook her head and stepped away from the door. There was no point in any of this. What was, was, and what is, is. She had to accept it – it was the world she lived in, and she had no choice but to accept it. Minerva sighed, banished the tea set, and began to restore her sitting room to its usual state.

Minerva wondered whether this had ever happened to anyone before – a young witch who fell hopelessly for a wizard who was so many years older than she. She’d not heard of such a thing, but then, it wasn’t something one would advertise. She had certainly never confided in anyone. After Carson’s death, she wished that she had confided in him. Minerva believed he might have understood. He would have been sympathetic to her, at least, especially after they had become closer during those months in London. She might have confided in him after he had told her his belief that she was meant for someone else. But she never had.

And now . . . there was no one in whom she could confide. Poppy was her closest friend, but despite the wink Poppy had given her this morning, Minerva didn’t think that she could really understand Minerva’s situation. She might think it acceptable for Minerva to have some kind of an affair, a fling, with the Headmaster, but Minerva doubted that Poppy could understand her feelings about him, nor her hopelessness. Poppy would probably advise her to seduce him or something. Minerva couldn’t imagine doing that; Albus would find such behaviour repellant and loathsome, she was sure. Minerva could not confide in Poppy. She wouldn’t understand.

Melina would be an even worse confidant. At least Poppy might be able to see Albus as a man; Melina still saw him as her sweet, slightly dotty, old Transfiguration teacher. To say that Melina would be stunned would be an understatement. No, Melina was not a candidate for such confidences.

Minerva, to her surprise, had actually become fairly good friends with Wilhemina after that February evening when she had stopped by to see if she could lend a hand with the Gryffindors. She had come to like the no-nonsense witch. In her forties, Wilhemina was closer to her own age than many of the other teachers, which made for a more casual relationship. She had also never taught Minerva herself, which also made Minerva feel more comfortable right from the start. But the two were not yet close enough to discuss truly personal matters – Minerva didn’t think she would confide in Wilhemina even if she were attracted to someone more typical; she certainly couldn’t talk to her about Albus.

Her friends in London were from another life, another reality, and Minerva had never felt as close to them as she always felt she ought. So none of them were within the realm of possibility. Casting about in her mind for anyone else she could talk to, Minerva immediately dismissed her parents. They were wonderful, and she really could talk to them about almost anything. But not this. Not even now, at her age. They might be worried that Albus had done something improper when she studied with him, for one thing. Even if that never entered their minds, Minerva knew that her father would have no clue what to say to such a revelation, and her mother would use it as one more reason that Minerva should leave Hogwarts and go somewhere that she might meet suitable men. As though a “suitable man” would cure her. They couldn’t imagine the strength of her feelings for Albus – and if they could, it would simply alarm them.

No, she couldn’t talk to her parents. And as much as she liked Malcolm and Morgan, Minerva felt she barely knew them. Murdoch . . . of all her relatives, he was the only one who might possibly listen to her and at least sympathise. But he would probably urge her to start seeing other men. And perhaps she should, she thought. It would be the sensible thing to do. And Minerva prized being sensible. That was one of the most irksome aspects of this situation, to her mind. It was entirely irrational from beginning to end, and Minerva could think of no sensible, logical solution to it – she couldn’t even come up with a logical reason for her feelings to exist, in the first place! Minerva was surprised she was still sane after all this time.

She would work it out on her own. She could do that. She would have to find a way to maintain her friendship with Albus, enjoy his company, and do whatever she could to take care of him and make his life better. Somehow, she would also have to maintain her professionalism, as well. Minerva didn’t think that her behaviour the last two days had been particularly professional. Albus may be her friend, but he was also the Headmaster. The embraces they had shared would have to remain exceptions to their normal behaviour. And they were. He had embraced her briefly when she had first arrived at Hogwarts, before he took charge of her bags and showed her to her rooms. And he had leaned forward and kissed her cheek when he had given her her house-warming present. But that was the last affectionate touch she had received from him until yesterday. Minerva was sure that was as it should be. She doubted that Albus normally sat embracing his female staff members as he had her. She hoped he didn’t, at any rate. . . . Of course, if one of them was upset and crying, he might. But now she knew that Albus cared for her and considered her a friend, that made a difference, surely.

Minerva thought of the way he had stumbled as he had tried to describe his feelings yesterday morning, and his whispered, “I thought you might even . . . hate me.” That fear had obviously disturbed Albus greatly, even as he protested that it was ridiculous. She did not think that thought would have upset him so if he did not care for her. It was reasonable to believe, then, that Albus behaved differently when comforting her than he might have with someone else. Unless the other person was also a friend. Minerva thought of Gertrude Gamp. Over the years, Albus had often expressed to her what a good and valued friend the Arithmancy teacher was. Somehow, Minerva could not imagine Gertrude dissolving in tears the way she had, though. And Gertrude would likely never have any cause to do so, not on Albus’s account, anyway – she surely must feel secure in her relationship with him and not racked with the insecurities that had plagued Minerva. It certainly seemed she should, at any rate.

Minerva sighed and looked over at Gertrude’s invitation, which she had moved to her mantlepiece when she rearranged the furniture. She supposed she should reply. Part of her wanted to decline the invitation. But Minerva was very curious and knew that the only way to assuage her curiosity would be to accept it.

She retrieved her reading glasses from where they lay next to the letter on the mantlepiece. Then, drawing a sheet of parchment from the single drawer of her work table, Minerva chose her favourite quill and a deep blue-black ink. Rather than use the work table, she sat at the little table by the window. Smoothing the parchment, Minerva contemplated the blank page in front of her. She Summoned her wand from where she’d left it on the larger table. Pursing her lips in concentration, Minerva placed the tip of the wand just above the surface of the parchment. “Sigillum Egidius!” she pronounced. The Egidius family seal appeared at the top of the page. The centre of the emblem contained a Rod of Aesclepius superimposed over a diamond with quadrants of blue, white, gold, and green; ivy surrounded the diamond and the motto Consolari Sat Gignere Medella (“to comfort enough to bring forth healing”) appeared above it. Normally, between two sprigs of thistle, a red deer rested demurely beneath the diamond, but Minerva had replaced it with a grey tabby poised to pounce.

How to respond to Gertrude’s invitation, then? Well, Minerva was not going to play games with her reply. Simple and straightforward would be best.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
“5 July 1957

“Dear Gertrude:

“Thank you for your kind invitation. A few days in Cornwall sounds quite agreeable, and you may expect me via your Portkey on Monday morning.

“As there will be other guests, may I ask whether there is any particular attire that I should bring with me or any occasion for which I should be prepared?

“Thank you again,
“Sincerely yours,

“Minerva M. McGonagall”

Minerva read her letter through. Perhaps her inquiry about clothing was a bit blunt and inelegant, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself and her hostess by committing a social gaffe. And, after all, Gertie had given her a veiled warning about her relatives. She should arrived prepared for these people, she supposed.

Minerva brought the letter over to her work table and got out her sealing wax. A quick Charm sealed her letter, and a wave of her wand impressed her modified Egidius coat-of-arms into the emerald green wax. If she were to expect a reply, it would be courteous to post it immediately, but Minerva was reluctant to send it out just yet. Once her acceptance was posted, she would be unable to change her mind. She slipped the sealed parchment into one of the pockets hidden in the seams of her skirt. She would wait just a little while before sending it. In the meantime, she owed Melina a letter.

Settling at her little table by the window again, Minerva composed her letter to her niece.

“5 July 1957

“Dear Melina,

“I am sorry I have neglected writing to you. The end of term was busy, as you might imagine, although that is no excuse. As I said in my last letter, I am also sorry that I was unable to come help you celebrate your new status, but you know that you have my heartiest congratulations. Mother said that she and Father had a good time. It would have been nice to have seen everyone – I don’t remember the last time I saw Great-uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen.

“I know you’re waiting for me to get to the point and answer the questions you asked in your last letter. I have confirmed my earlier research that I had told you about, and I think I may have found a solution to your quandary. I don’t want to go into details yet, as I still must consult one other person before I am certain. I am sorry to leave you hanging for a bit longer, Melina, but please be patient. I know it has been becoming more difficult for you to explain your absences and your comings-and-goings to Brennan, but since you will be taking a few weeks off now and will be able to spend more time with him, I think you will be able to hold on until I have worked out the details for you.

“I want you to be happy, Melina, and when I met Brennan and saw you two together, I understood why you like him. It didn’t even seem obvious that he was a Muggle – or that you were a witch, for that matter. I don’t mean that in any insulting way – I hope you realise that. What I mean to say is that you were simply Brennan and Melina, and magic didn’t matter. (I never thought I’d say that!) I hope that Brennan’s suspicions don’t get out of hand. Tend to him carefully while you have this free time – although I doubt very much you need to be told that! – and hopefully you will be able to reassure him of his place in your life.

“I believe I will be visiting a colleague in Cornwall next week, but know that I have not forgotten your predicament. Before I leave, I will try to consult with the other person, as I mentioned, but if I am unable to, I will do so immediately upon my return.

“Give my love to your father,
“Love,

“Minerva”

Minerva folded the letter, addressed it to Melina, and sealed it as she had the one to Gertrude, but this time she impressed three intertwined M’s into the wax, rather than the coat-of-arms, which Minerva felt would be pretentious. She put the letter in her pocket with the first one. Glancing at the mantle clock, she saw that it was almost noon. She would have lunch, have her talk with Poppy, and then decide whether to send off her acceptance or not.

When she reached the Great Hall, only Hagrid was there. If Minerva didn’t know better, she would have thought that he looked unhappy. But Hagrid was almost relentlessly cheerful. Even when he was a boy and had been dismissed from Hogwarts and had his wand broken, he had maintained a Stoic bearing that was admirable in such a young wizard; within weeks of being installed as the Hogwarts Groundskeeper-trainee, he had regained his positive outlook on life, and Minerva had been surprised to find him whistling as he worked in the gardens or cheerfully doing rounds to check the physical locks on the gates and doors. Minerva looked at Hagrid, assessing his state. Perhaps he had overdone it at the Three Broomsticks last night and was still recovering.

Minerva sat beside him. One more person would have to arrive before the lunch would appear on the table. “I had some of your strawberries for breakfast this morning, Hagrid. They really are wonderful. I don’t think I’ve tasted strawberries that have been so . . . strawberry before,” Minerva said with a bright smile.

“Ta, Minerva.” Hagrid sighed. “Glad yeh like’em,” he said dolourously.

Hmm, this was not the Hagrid she knew and loved.

“You seem a little under the weather today, Hagrid. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine.” He sighed again.

There was definitely something wrong. Just then the door opened and Professor Birnbaum entered with Professor MacAirt. They were speaking together, obviously continuing an on-going conversation. Minerva could not very well press Hagrid about what was bothering him now that other faculty were arriving. He looked like he needed a friendly ear, though. Perhaps later in the day, or over the week-end, she could seek him out and see if he wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him. Of course, by then, he might be over whatever it was. Still, she had benefited from the kindness of her friends; she should at least give him the opportunity to talk to her if he wanted to.

Feeling a rush of affection for the half-giant, Minerva patted one of his large hands. “Perhaps we can talk later, if you want, hmm?” She smiled at him.

Hagrid returned her smile with a small one of his own. “Eh, it’s nothing. But it would be nice to see yeh, Minerva.” He was remembering to drop the “Miss” before her name, Minerva noticed gratefully. When he had started as trainee Groundskeeper, a position that Albus had got for him, Headmaster Dippet had instructed him that he now must address all of the students with respect, and call them “Miss” or “Mister.” After she learned that, Minerva had insisted that he must not call her “Miss McGonagall”; so that he wouldn’t get into trouble if someone overheard him, she had agreed to be called “Miss Minerva.” Old habits die hard, and Hagrid had some trouble adjusting when Minerva had returned as a teacher and alternated between addressing her as “Miss Minerva” and “Professor McGonagall.” While Minerva thought it was perfectly proper for him to use the latter form of address in front of students or strangers, she could not have him calling her “Miss Minerva” under any circumstances. She had insisted to Hagrid that he call her by her first name when they were in an informal setting, or at least stick with “Professor McGonagall,” if he felt that he must.

Lunch appeared on the large round table, and soon other staff members joined them. Albus didn’t arrive, and remembering what he had said, Minerva didn’t linger after she had eaten in hopes he might be coming in late. She did stop by Poppy’s chair before she left and told her that she would meet her in the infirmary after she had finished eating.

Returning to her rooms, Minerva brushed her teeth and used the loo. On her way back out the door, she paused to smell the flowers that Albus had given her. She smiled again, remembering that he had picked them and arranged them himself. She wished she had seen that – it was bound to have been a sweet sight. The world’s foremost Alchemist and victor over Grindelwald, arranging flowers. And the way he had presented them, vase and all. . . . That was probably because he had intended to give them to her yesterday and forgot. What was it Albus had said? Something about having been distracted by the fair blossom in his presence . . . . Minerva’s cheeks grew pink. She wondered what made him say that – being gallant, as Melina would say, no doubt. That was all. She shouldn’t make too much of it. But he had noticed her appearance that morning. Minerva was glad she had made some efforts to look presentable. Perhaps he did appreciate it more than she had thought he would, and, after all, Albus might not place a great deal of importance on a person’s appearance, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t have an aesthetic appreciation of it if someone were to take pains with their grooming.

With those pleasant thoughts, Minerva set off for the hospital wing. She would need to make sure that Poppy hadn’t got the wrong idea that morning – or, if it was too late for that, to correct any misapprehensions she might have. Minerva was grateful for the advice that Poppy had given her yesterday, and for her concern, as well, so she couldn’t be too upset with her. And Minerva did want to share the good news with her friend that she and Albus had cleared up their misunderstandings and that all was well between them again. Although that much must have been evident from the fact that they were eating breakfast together. Minerva rolled her eyes, thinking of Poppy’s inopportune visit that morning. Yes, clearing up any misconceptions she had was her first order of business.

Note: A bit of a transitional chappie here. I'm glad folks are still reading and enjoying it!

[elivania]

Looking forward to the "clearing up of any misconceptions" with Poppy. Should be wonderously amusing, if I do say so myself. *wink*

Really great installment. I love the analysis you had Minerva do on the breakfast. Your capture of Minerva's character through this whole thing has been absolutly spot on. Brilliant work and I can't wait for more!

[Trulyamused]

Very nice. Can't wait for the visit with Poppy. (g)

Truly

[MMADfan]

Note: Thanks, TrulyAmused & Eli, for your comments! Minerva's discussion with Poppy is coming up, but first we visit Albus.

Part XLIII: Facing Oneself

Albus hurried quickly down the hallway to the main corridor. As much as he had enjoyed having breakfast with Minerva, he didn’t know what had possessed him to say some of the things he had said that morning. Even as he vowed he would be careful around Minerva, he would come out with statements that immediately raised questions about his ability to do so. It was one thing to have complimented her the way he had when he had arrived – Albus recognised that as a witch, Minerva probably enjoyed compliments about her appearance, even though she was by no means vain – but some of the other remarks that had come from his mouth were enough to make any grown wizard cringe. His last comment, for example. That had been entirely unnecessary. He had already apologised, and they had established that they enjoyed spending time together. There was no need to have gone on the way he had about the mistake it had been to have deprived himself of her company – let alone that he had, once again, with all the sensitivity of a marauding Hippogriff, mentioned the incident of the prior morning.

It wasn’t simply that he seemed unable to keep the conversation to appropriate topics, either. Albus would have appeared utterly insensitive had he not allowed Minerva to make her apology. It would have been wrong of him to have denied her the opportunity to apologise to him. But why did he have to say what he had? To have told her, like some first-year Hufflepuff with a bad crush on the Head Girl, that he was afraid that she hated him. Minerva had taken it well, Albus admitted. And they had been able to go on and discuss school business, as planned. She had treated him normally, and Albus had joked with her in his usual way, but that did nothing to erase his memory of that embarrassing revelation.

As he reached the gargoyle, for the first time in many, many decades, Albus felt weary and wished he could flee his life. This was worse than the embarrassing debacle a few years ago. Over the course of a long life, that incident had been nothing, really. But Albus had no idea how to deal with this on-going situation. He had known when he had hired Minerva that his feelings might be . . . susceptible to her presence in the castle. He hadn’t believed it would prove to be such a difficulty, however. Indeed, it hadn’t been difficult, not until he had heard those words come out of her mouth yesterday morning and realised he was in danger of losing her friendship.

Albus sat at his desk and looked at all of the parchments that he had to read through. Not now, he thought, and pushed himself away from the desk. He went up to his suite, changed into his dressing gown, and prepared the nasty potion that he had promised Aberforth he would apply to his beard weekly. He was more than a day late with it, but there was no helping that.

Albus sat on the little bench in his bathroom, beard bucket floating in front of him. At least this was an undisturbed half-hour to himself. Perhaps that was one reason he had agreed to participate in his brother’s daft experiment.

He sighed. Albus now saw that he had been able to maintain his equilibrium despite Minerva’s presence in the castle because he had simply not seen very much of her once term began. He had even brought her dinner in her office a few times when she had been working late, but had always declined her invitation to stay and keep her company.

He had been balanced on a knife-edge, trying to maintain an illusion of friendship with Minerva and stay in her good graces whilst at the same time behaving as though it didn’t matter whether she was in the castle or in London. That was foolish of him. As he had told her when he left her rooms that morning, he had been depriving himself of her company. But now it was as though he were going to the other extreme. And it would have to stop. Surely he could find a happy medium between ignoring her – which would hurt her feelings – and behaving in the maudlin way he had this morning.

Albus shook his head, sloshing the potion and releasing more of its foul odour, despite the Charm that was supposed to contain the stench. His eyes watered, and he was happy to blame the potion’s stinging fumes. Why had he said what he had about his irrational fears? He had known they were irrational even yesterday morning; he certainly knew today that there was no truth to them. Was his mawkish sentimentality a way of finding out what Minerva would say about his fear? Or a way to inveigle sympathy from her? Albus himself wasn't sure.

What really bothered him, though, was not the “foot-in-mouth disease” he seemed to have developed that morning – and knowing Minerva’s generous nature as he did, Albus couldn’t believe that his confessed fear would lower her esteem for him – no, what bothered him was how easily he had made the confession. Perhaps not easily, but willingly. It would have been sufficient to have told Minerva that hearing her words had hurt him in the moment and made him doubt their friendship. Instead, he had been so moved by her apology that he had revealed more than necessary. The foolishness of an old man, a greater foolishness than that of youth. . . . And then to have allowed himself the indulgence of holding her the way he did and actually telling her he liked it . . . Minerva had not minded only because she had not understood what he had meant by it.

Over the last dozen years or so, the two had seen each other a few times a year, sometimes a bit more frequently, sometimes less. Usually they had met casually, when he happened to be in London and she had time to join him for lunch or dinner. Occasionally, they had made special plans to meet, as when Minerva was looking for a Transfiguration Master and wanted his advice. He had also been present to lend his support when Minerva had carried out her Challenge to Madame Feuilly. Albus smiled at the memory. Although due to his own stubbornness, the incident in France during the war had strained their relationship for a while, the two had afterward maintained an easy, congenial relationship.

During all that time, Albus had no difficulty maintaining his view of Minerva as a friend and former student. True, he would occasionally find himself noticing that she was an attractive woman, but he had been able to admire her in the abstract. And there was nothing wrong with caring for Minerva with the deep affection of a friend and mentor. Affection, love, was a good thing, when not twisted by possessiveness or any of the other human flaws that can taint relationships. The trouble was, Albus knew that what he felt was different from the affection of a friend or a mentor – and that it had been for a long time, despite his denial and self-control. It was not even as simple as being attracted to her in addition to being fond of her. Albus had occasion to meet many very attractive witches in his long life, some of whom he had liked quite a bit. But Minerva was not one of those witches.

Albus banished the beard bucket and Charmed off the potion. He shed his dressing gown and stepped into the shower to rid himself of the last vestiges of the noxious concoction, although it was not strictly necessary. Would that a Charm and a shower could cleanse him of all his troubles.

Albus stood with warm water pouring over him and jetting on his body from all sides. He stretched his arms out before him, braced himself against the shower wall, leaning forward slightly, and closed his eyes. This was not merely a question of being inconveniently attracted to a much younger, very pleasant witch whom he had taught several years ago and with whom he now worked. With water streaming over his face and running down his hair and beard, Albus finally articulated to himself what he had known, or should have known, for a long time: he loved Minerva McGonagall. He loved her completely. Being with her made him feel more himself. And the way he loved her . . . he desired her physically, but out of more than just a pure physical desire.

Albus didn’t even know when he had begun to love Minerva as something more than a precocious student. It wasn’t as simple as pointing to the day in McTavish Street when he had realised that Minerva was an attractive young witch. She had been very dear to him before that day. Although Albus had always been scrupulously fair in class, he could admit that Minerva had meant more to him than just a sweet child and exemplary student for quite some time before that warm summer’s day when he had first perceived her as a desirable woman.

Albus now wondered about the truth of what he had seen that afternoon in Edinburgh. There was absolutely no doubt that he had been appalled and sickened when he realised he was becoming aroused by the sight of Minerva McGonagall. Even at the time, he hadn’t understood how he could have failed to recognise her. To be sure, Minerva was not wearing school robes, but he had seen her in different clothing before, and although she usually wore her hair down at school, he had seen her when she had it pinned up, as well. There must have been some part of him that had known that he was looking at Minerva; it had not simply been a random witch on the street whom he had found enticing and who later turned out to be Minerva, but it had been Minerva herself who had attracted him. Yet Albus had gone on to work with her that summer, and to teach her for another year, and had easily ignored any stray thought that might have led him to appreciate Minerva in a way unbecoming a teacher charged with her care. It truly hadn’t been difficult for him, either; Albus had successfully fallen back into their established relationship – which was closer and more like a friendship than the typical teacher-student relationship, but not inappropriate, either.

In that moment, standing motionless in the steaming shower, a very small part of Albus selfishly wished that Minerva had disappeared from his life after she left school, that she had married and had babies and sent him photographs of her cute little offspring, then sent those offspring to Hogwarts for him to teach. He could have just remembered her as a particularly talented student whose husband was a very lucky man. He could have been a proper elderly wizard chuckling at his memories, and not this pitiable old man who longed for a young witch who seemed so close but who was completely out of reach.

The greater part of him, though, was grateful for Minerva’s on-going presence in his life and glad for her friendship. Albus resolved that he would express his love as a friend, and as a mentor for his protege. He would not fall into the pathetic role of a wizard in his dotage, making a fool of himself over a young witch. Albus most certainly didn’t need friends and colleagues clucking over what they would see as a pitiful infatuation and discussing whether this was a sign that he had entered his final decline.

If Gertie agreed to his request, Albus thought as he turned off the shower, it would make the situation a little easier for him – for a while, anyway. Although there were other options available, as she had pointed out more than once, they were less agreeable to him. Still, he could not ask more of Gertie than she was willing to give. She had already been more generous than he had a right to expect.

Albus dried himself, feeling slightly better for having finally articulated what had afflicted his judgment and his behaviour, but he was still subdued. He really shouldn’t feel sorry for himself; he should embrace his friendship with Minerva and be glad of it. As he padded into his bedroom to don fresh robes, there was a burst of flames in the centre of the room. Fawkes was back.

The phoenix settled at the top of the bed and cocked his head as he watched Albus dress in garnet-coloured cotton robes, with a chevron pattern woven through the cloth. As Albus sat to pull on his socks, Fawkes let out a brief trill, and Albus looked up at him and smiled.

“Where have you been, old friend? I have missed you the last day or two. I think I either need a holiday or a phoenix’s song, and I haven’t time for a holiday,” Albus said, as the large bird fluttered closer to settle on his shoulder. “How am I supposed to put on my shoes with you sitting there, hmm?” At the look Fawkes gave him, Albus laughed. “You’re right – I am a wizard, aren’t I?”

Albus Charmed his shoes onto his feet, and Fawkes began to sing. Albus felt as though a great weight was being lifted from him, or as though he had just woken from a most refreshing sleep after a long and tiring day. He smiled. Yes, he would enjoy Minerva’s presence in the castle. He would cherish her friendship and all of the time they were able to spend together. It was a blessing that she was here with him; even those feelings that he could not express to her were a blessing, and he could appreciate them and hold her dear in his heart, keeping his feelings close and hidden.

Much happier, Albus stood, Fawkes on his shoulder. Stroking the bird's red and gold plumage, he said, “To the office, then?”

Fawkes trilled in response and, with a bright flash, transported them both to Albus’s office – a favour rarely bestowed under such mundane circumstances. After feeding Fawkes a few treats, Albus sat down in good humour and set to work through his pile of parchments, looking forward to the next time he would see Minerva.

Note: There may have been a puzzle or two in this segment. Sorry about that! Next, Minerva will visit Poppy and decide whether to accept Gertrude's invitation.

[Hogwarts Duo]

It was nice to see that Albus finally has the right idea about Minerva and that he's willing to admit he loves her...awww.

But I have to say I have an ueasy feeling about whatever it is he's asked of Gertrude (shudders at the thought that ran through my mind when reading this section) and I can only hope that I am wrong in my assumptions.

Update again soon please...

[MMADfan]

Note: I'm not sure if it's too soon to post this next installment. It's short, though. We get to find out about Minerva's visit with Poppy.

Part XLIV: Curiosity Piqued

Minerva strode rapidly toward the Owlery. She was going to post her reply to Gertrude before she could change her mind. Her conversation with Poppy had convinced her that she should accept the invitation. Minerva’s curiosity was piqued, and Poppy had agreed to send her an Owl late on Tuesday, which Minerva could use as an excuse to leave early, if she were having a dreadful time, by claiming a personal emergency that she had to return for. It was good to have friends like Poppy, Minerva thought. Although Poppy could sometimes be as cryptic as a Slytherin.

Fortunately, it seemed that Poppy had just been teasing her when she’d given her that broad smile and wink. Minerva had arrived in the infirmary prepared to disillusion her friend of any misconceptions she may have had, but found it unnecessary.

“Minerva! Thanks for stopping by – I thought we might talk in my sitting room.” Poppy grinned. “You never know who might be standing outside the door here.”

As they walked the short distance to Poppy’s quarters, the two made small talk about lunch and who was still in the castle and when the Headmaster might decide to move the meals to the staff room. As soon as they reached her rooms and Poppy had closed the door behind them, she turned to Minerva with a smile.

“I was very happy to see that the two of you had cleared the air, Min. I was worried when neither of you appeared at dinner last night – I was afraid the meeting had gone badly and you’d both been too upset to come down to the Great Hall. But if you were having breakfast with him this morning, that seemed a good sign.” She gestured to Minerva to have a seat.

“Yes, well, you see,” said Minerva, hoping that Poppy didn’t think that “good sign” meant that she and Albus hadn’t parted company the night before, “we hadn’t finished discussing the curriculum yesterday. We only got about half-way through, in fact. Oh, Poppy,” she said with a smile, “he was so sweet. He had set the meeting for late in the afternoon in hopes that I would stay and have dinner for him. He had it all planned – I was becoming upset, actually, because I had intended to apologise the moment I arrived, but every time I opened my mouth and tried to do that, Albus interrupted and brought the conversation back around to business.”

Poppy smiled at her encouragingly.

“I accepted his invitation to dinner – although, the way he had extended it, it would have been difficult to refuse – and I resolved that as soon as he joined me in his sitting room, I would apologise. And oh, Poppy, he’s Charmed his stairs to recognise me!” Minerva beamed.

“You see, Minerva – it was just an oversight on his part, not an attempt to show you any disrespect!” Poppy reminded her friend of her reassurances of the morning before.

“Yes, well, anyway, I washed my hands, and when I came out, the table was set, and there was a beautiful bouquet of flowers on the table, and I still wasn’t able to tell him how sorry I was. Albus poured us wine, made a toast, and started to apologise again. He was so sweet, Poppy. He had already apologised for not having Charmed the stairs sooner, and he repeated that apology and asked that I forgive him for not making time for me. Poppy, he was so sincere, but I felt dreadful! All day I had been thinking of what I had said, what he had overheard, and how I must have hurt him. And now he was apologising as though he had been the one who was wrong. I’m embarrassed to say that I burst into tears. The poor man didn’t know why I was crying and thought he must have hurt my feelings. I explained that he kept apologising, but that I felt terrible about what I’d said and should be the one to apologise. He dismissed it, Poppy! Albus said that he’d been surprised at what he’d overheard, but that he couldn’t blame me. Then we sat together on his couch and waited for dinner. He told me about his morning and why he had been late – people make such demands on him at all hours, Poppy! You wouldn’t believe!” Minerva shook her head at the thought.

“Anyway, by the time we had finished dinner, we were both too tired to discuss the curriculum so he suggested meeting early this morning,” Minerva finished, hoping that Poppy drew the correct conclusion that they had both spent the night in their own rooms. It seemed she had little to worry about, though.

“I’m so glad, Minerva. I know I teased you a bit when I came up to your room this morning, but I really was just glad that you two seemed to be on good terms. But dinner, and then breakfast the next day, well, it seems to me that you may get your wish, after all, Minerva,” Poppy said with a delighted smile.

“What do you mean, Poppy?” asked Minerva somewhat sharply.

“Just that you said yesterday that you wanted his respect, and you may remember that I had suggested that you might be looking for something more than his respect, that’s all.” Poppy stood and started toward her small kitchen. “Join me in some tea, Min? I thought the house-elves put a bit too much salt in the soup today.”

“Yes, yes, fine. But what are you trying to say, Poppy?” Minerva hoped that she didn’t have any ridiculous ideas – or had shared them with anyone else!

“Just that you two have known each other for a while, now,” responded Poppy from the kitchen, “and it would be nice if you became better friends, that’s all.”

“Yes, well, you’ve known him almost as long, Poppy. The same could be said of you.”

Poppy reappeared with the teapot, cups, and milk. “Technically true, I suppose,” she said, pouring, “but I didn’t have the contact with him that you’ve had over the years.” She handed Minerva her teacup. “You two have a lot in common, and you’ve always seemed to enjoy each other’s company. It would be nice for both of you if you became . . . closer.” Poppy took a sip of her own tea.

Closer? Minerva had detected the slight hesitation before Poppy had said that word. “Yes. I suppose we have some things in common. But that could be said of others, as well. He and Slughorn, for example – Potions. And of course, there’s Gertrude.” Minerva didn’t make mention of what they might have in common.

“Yes, but as amiable as Professor Slughorn is, somehow I don’t see him and Albus becoming close friends.” Poppy smirked at the thought. “As you say, though, he and Gertrude have been friends for quite a while. She’s a good friend to him, too.”

Minerva ignored the slight twisting in her gut at Poppy’s observation and sipped her tea. After all, she had been the one to have mentioned Gertrude in the first place.

“That reminds me, Poppy. I got the most peculiar invitation this morning.”

“Really? Who from?”

“Gertrude.”

“Gertrude? But I thought she was on holiday – at her family’s estate, I believe.”

“Exactly. That’s one of the things that makes this invitation so odd. She has invited me to come and visit her for a few days next week.”

“That is a bit unexpected, isn’t it? You are going to accept, aren’t you?” Poppy asked.

“I’m not sure, Poppy. I have the acceptance written and in my pocket, but once I send it, I won’t be able to back out. Albus was there when it arrived. He read it for me and ‘interpreted,’ as he said, the Slytherin meanings contained in otherwise innocuous phrases. But I still don’t know why she invited me. Albus said that Gertie thinks I need a holiday after my first term teaching.”

“‘Slytherin meanings’? Do tell, Minerva!”

“Well, Albus says that Gertrude is bored with her surroundings, for one, and that there will be several other guests – relatives of hers – there whom I won’t like.”

“Really? You must accept, Minerva! It should be interesting. And you can come back and tell me all about her dreadful relatives!” Poppy’s eyes sparkled. “Besides, I’m sure there’s a reason Gertrude is inviting you down – other than boredom and her obnoxious kin. You need to go and find out what it is.”

“I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with a bunch of snooty pure-bloods, Poppy. You know my opinions on that. And even though all of my father’s grandparents were magical, you just know they will ask about the McGonagall name.”

“You’re as pure-blooded as any of them, I’m sure. How many people don’t have a Muggle or Muggle-born in their family tree? Precious few, I’ll wager. Besides, the Egidius and Parnovon sides of your family tree are even more ‘respectable.’ And you know what they’d do if they learned your grandmother is a Tyree!” Poppy chuckled. The Tyree witches were notorious for marrying Muggle-borns, and even the occasional Muggle, but no one ever faulted them for it. The Tyree name was passed mother-to-daughter, and although a Tyree woman might use her husband’s name in order to avoid confusing people outside the family, she never dropped the Tyree name. Tyree wizards were more traditional in their choice of mates, but also less remarkable in other ways. Tyree witches, at some point in the ancient past, had developed a reputation as fearsome and ruthless witches whom no one dared cross. Although Minerva had seen little evidence of ferocity and vindictiveness in her own Tyree relatives, the legend continued – making their lives a bit too easy, she sometimes thought. Having a reputation, even an unearned one, as a formidable duellist and patient avenger of wrongs committed against oneself or one’s kin could lead to arrogance and unreasonable expectations of others.

“Poppy, I am not going to get into a . . . a spitting contest with those snobs and start spouting off the names of all branches of my family that haven’t had a Muggle in the line for more than four generations. And I am not a Tyree, so there would be no point in mentioning that.”

“Yes, but at least keep it in mind. You can just sit there smugly knowing you’re right about the stupidity of pure-blood ideology and that, on top of it, you’ve probably got a more ‘impressive’ genealogy than any of those snobs!”

“I don’t want to lend credence to any of their bigoted nonsense by even debating it. You know that. Albus says they’re all Slytherins,” she said, changing the topic somewhat. “I’m more concerned about that, actually.”

“There may be people there whom you know, people from school or the Ministry. They can’t all be bad, after all. And Gertrude turned out all right!” Poppy finished her tea and poured another cup, offering more to Minerva.

Accepting a fresh cup of tea, Minerva agreed, nodding. “Gertrude has always treated me fairly. That’s true. But we’ve never been friends. I hardly exchanged two words with her after I left school, and we’ve certainly not become close since I’ve returned. I think she’s up to something.”

“I’m sure she is! That’s why you have to go – to find out what,” Poppy said. “I’m sure it’ll be worth your while.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Besides, she’s friends with Albus. She may just want to be friendly because of that.”

“What do you mean?” There was that constriction in her gut again.

“You know. She knows you’re friends with him, too. And she has known you for a while. She may just want to get to know you better . . . something like that.” Poppy got up and fussed with the tea set. “You know, I think I’d like a biscuit. Would you?” Poppy hurried out to her kitchen and fetched a tin. Opening it, she offered it to Minerva. “Iced lemon shortbread.”

Minerva took one. Not bad, she supposed. She thought about what Poppy had said. It made her uneasy.

“Gertrude had an opportunity to get to know me better this term. I never saw her make any effort.”

“You were both busy.” Poppy bit into her biscuit.

“True . . . . Well, I think I will send off my letter, then. Otherwise, I’ll always wonder what I missed.” Minerva was sure that her curiosity would get her into trouble one day.

The two witches spoke a while longer, Minerva telling Poppy of her letter to Melina and the conclusions she had drawn from the research she had done for her. Poppy wanted to hear more about Minerva’s breakfast meeting with the Headmaster, so Minerva gave her an abbreviated account, not going into any private details, certainly not mentioning Albus’s confessed fear. Nonethelesss, Poppy reiterated her belief that Minerva and Albus now had the opportunity to “become closer,” as she put it. Minerva made the mistake of mentioning the bouquet that Albus had brought with him that morning.

“And the flowers! Minerva, that was a lovely gesture. That must be why he went down to the greenhouses with Johannes after lunch. He really does care for you, Minerva. You must see that now,” she said.

“Of course he does. He was my Animagus teacher, after all. And as you said before, we’ve known each other for a long time. You were right yesterday; I was just a little insecure about my status now that I’ve come back to teach. But that’s all. And it’s over and done with.”

Poppy looked at Minerva oddly for a moment before telling her that she really had to finish some work in the infirmary since she was leaving that weekend. Before Minerva left, Poppy offered to send her an Owl on Tuesday evening, “just in case,” and Minerva accepted gratefully. By Tuesday evening, Minerva should have discovered whatever plan it was that Gertrude had up her sleeve, anyway, and if the place was intolerable, she could make a gracious exit when she got Poppy’s letter.

So now she was climbing up to the Owlery, which must have been cleaned recently, since she hardly slipped at all whilst crossing the floor and posting her letters. Minerva chose a particularly hearty-looking horned owl to deliver her reply to Cornwall and a smaller screech owl to bring Melina’s letter to her in Edinburgh.

As she attached the letter to the screech owl’s leg, Minerva reminded her, “If Melina is with a Muggle, don’t deliver this to her. Just bring it to the Egidius Apothecary and leave it with someone there, all right?” At the owl’s hooted assent (at least that’s what Minerva hoped it was), Minerva released the bird and watched her fly off eastward. The larger owl had already disappeared to the south.

Now to stop by the Headmaster’s office and take a look at Albus’s list, as she’d promised she would. Minerva doubted that she would have anything to add to it, but she would dutifully examine it and see if she could think of any other publications for his advertisement. Besides, she needed to pick up her curriculum materials. Minerva had been floating when she left his office the night before and had hardly thought of the original purpose of her visit. No wonder she had left her parchments and books behind.

As she approached the gargoyle, Minerva wondered whether Albus was in his office. He had said he might have to leave for a while – probably to go to the Ministry, she thought. She hoped he was there; she had just seen him a few hours ago, but she wouldn’t mind seeing him again, even briefly. She remembered her own confession of that morning, and how she had told him that she had looked forward to every meeting and had been disappointed each time he had been late. Minerva hoped that hadn’t been too revealing of her feelings. But it is natural for friends to look forward to seeing each other. And Albus himself had made the rather startling revelation that he had feared she had hated him. That possibility, as unlikely as it was, had clearly disturbed him. Minerva knew she should feel bad for having hurt him to that degree – and she did – but she also couldn’t help feeling warmed by the affection it implied.

Reaching the top of the spiral stairs, Minerva used the griffin-shaped brass knocker. When there was no response, she opened the door and entered. Albus wasn’t there, obviously, or he would have opened the door to her. His desk did look clearer of parchment, she thought. He had probably left the list on the desk for her, or possibly it was with her teaching materials. She’d just have to look for it – Albus must have left it somewhere it would be easy for her to find. Minerva stepped into the room and approached his desk when, startled by a sudden trilled song coming from above, she looked up to see Fawkes perched on a high shelf near the portrait of Dilys Derwent.

Note: A slightly abrupt ending, but "stay tuned" to find out about Minerva's visit to Albus's office and then her Saturday meeting with him. Also to come: a talk with Hagrid and the results of Minerva's research into Melina's "complicated situation." Later, we visit Cornwall and get to see if Minerva's curiosity is satisfied. What is Gertie up to, anyway? I hope you stick along for the ride!

[lemonygingersnaps]

I love this! You have me waiting impatiently for each update!

[Gemmie Lou]

cnt wait 4 the next update it just gets better and better x x x

[MMADfan]

Note: This is kind of a continuation of the previous installment. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for your notes, durc09 and lemonygingersnaps! I really appreciate them.

Part XLV: More Curiosity

Albus ate a cheese and pickle sandwich and a cup of creamy leek soup as he finished reviewing the changes he had recommended be made to the International Wizarding Treaty on Extradition and Asylum before the Ministry agreed to sign on. It would be best for him to bring it directly to the Ministry himself. He might not be able to meet with the Minister for International Magical Co-operation herself, but he could make amends for having cancelled their Floo-Conference yesterday by delivering the document in person. He had known Philomena Flint Yaxley for most of his life, after all, and although Albus was sure that she knew of the situation he had been in a few years ago, she had the grace never to allude to it in anyway, not even obliquely. Of course, she had been in Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, as most Flints were.

Before Albus left, he had to leave out the list and the advertisement copy for Minerva to find. Albus hoped he would be back before she came to look at it, but he might not be. He found the parchments in one of his desk drawers, where he had put them so they wouldn’t become mixed in with his Ministry correspondence or other school business, and glanced at them briefly before taking a fresh parchment and composing a note for Minerva.

“Friday, 5 July

“Dear Minerva,

“I am sorry I am not here to greet you, but I had to make a trip to the Ministry.

“Here is the list and the advertisement I propose to run. Could you read the advertisement and let me know if there are any changes that you think should be made to it? There is room on the parchment for you to make your comments directly on it. Feel free to use my desk, quill and parchment, of course.

“Have you thought any more about the Head of House positions? Perhaps we can talk about it when we meet tomorrow.

“I look forward to seeing you. I may return to Hogwarts for dinner, although I am not certain.

“Thank you very much for your help. I truly appreciate it, Minerva.

“Sincerely yours,

“Albus”

Albus placed the parchments in the cleared centre of his desk, his note on top. He then straightened the stacks of parchment on either side of the desk, picked up the portfolio in which he had placed his recommendations to Minister Yaxley, and departed via the Floo-Network for the Ministry.

If anyone with sharp eyes had been present in the minutes after the Headmaster had left his office, they might have noticed a rather peculiar draught that seemed to rise up from nowhere to ruffle the parchments on the Headmaster’s desk. The three sheets sitting in the centre of it were wafted gently to the floor, where they came to rest only partially obscured by the furniture upon which they had once lain visible and unobstructed. Such a keen-eyed person might also have observed a similar soft breeze lightly disturbing the neat stack of parchments on the right side of the desktop, exposing the parchments that had been placed at the very bottom of the pile. There was no one there to observe, however, but Fawkes and a few rather drowsy portraits, one of whom shook her head and muttered, “Foolish thing,” before falling into an artful doze punctuated by the occasional counterfeit snore.

Twenty minutes later, Minerva, startled by the phoenix song, looked up to see former headmistress Dilys Derwent blinking at her sleepily.

“Good-afternoon, Professor McGonagall.”

“Good-afternoon, ma’am,” replied Minerva. What was the etiquette for addressing the portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses? She had never had one greet her before, not that she could remember. Deciding that returning the headmistress’s greeting was sufficient, Minerva turned away. Her curriculum materials lay on the table where she and Albus had been working the day before. As she stepped over to retrieve them, thinking that perhaps Albus had left the list of journals with her parchments, she was halted by the sound of Dilys Derwent’s voice.

“I believe that the Headmaster left you something on his desk, Professor,” the portrait called out to her.

“Thank you, ma’am. I was going to look there afterward.” Quite helpful, these portraits. Although it might get annoying to have them constantly watching everything one did. She supposed that’s why they slept, or pretended to, much of the time. Minerva was very glad that she and Albus had their dinner upstairs the night before. She wouldn’t have wanted dozens of pairs of eyes watching her as she broke down in tears.

Minerva went over to the desk. Hmm, nothing obvious – it must be in one of the stacks of parchment, although she thought it odd that Albus would have wanted her to leaf through his other work in order to find it. Just as she was about to come around the desk to sit in the chair and begin to look through the piles, two parchments that peeked out from beneath one of the stacks caught her eye. They seemed to be lists written in colourful ink, but they weren’t what Minerva had expected the list of journals to look like. Curious, though, Minerva pulled the parchments out a bit more so she could get a better glance at them, just in case one of them was the list she was looking for.

Getting a better look at the first parchment, Minerva immediately perceived that it was not the list of journals. The second thing she saw was that the list had nothing to do with school business. She froze as she realised the subject of these lists. Reading it upside-down, she could see the headings, “Knowns” and “Possibles,” and the first few items under each one. “She had an appointment with me at nine o’clock to discuss NEWT-level curriculum,” “I suggested the appointment,” and “she came up the stairs with Gertie (who found her caught at the password change)” were the first three items under “Knowns,” and “she has always disliked me or held me in contempt (okay, more an ‘Unreasonable Fear’ than a ‘Possible’),” “she has always respected me,” and “she has always liked me” began the list under “Possibles.” The first item under “Possibles” had been crossed out in ink of a rather ugly dark orange.

Minerva felt peculiar – slightly guilty for looking at something that Albus had likely thought was safe from prying eyes at the bottom of a pile of Hogwarts forms, but also disturbed by the thought that he had made lists about their encounter yesterday morning. She knew Albus found lists an excellent way to organize his thoughts and solve problems, but was that all she was to him, an abstract problem to be solved? Swallowing her sense of guilt, Minerva pulled the sheet out from the stack just a little further. Now she could see the full list of what he had called “Knowns,” although the remainder of the “Possibles” were still covered by other parchments.

Albus had made a list of everything he knew about their encounter that morning. Minerva shook her head as if to clear it. At the bottom of the list, though, there were a few entries that were unlike his earlier observations: “I want Minerva to stay at Hogwarts,” “I respect her intellect and her character,” and “I enjoy and appreciate her company” were the final items on his list of “Knowns.”

Minerva hesitated, but her guilt and her respect for Albus won out over her curiosity, and she replaced the piece of parchment beneath the rest, just as she had found it, without reading anything more on the list of possibles or looking at the other sheet beneath it. She didn’t know what to make of what she’d found, but it was probably best if she behaved as though she hadn’t seen it at all. But where was the list he had left for her?

A voice came from across the room. “I believe that the parchments you are looking for were blown under the desk, dear.”

Minerva turned and looked up at the portrait of the former headmistress. “You could have told me that earlier, you know.”

“I suppose so, but you seemed so interested in what you were looking at,” responded Derwent with a demure smile.

Minerva flushed. The portraits were bound to serve the Headmaster. If Albus asked – or maybe even if he didn’t – the portraits would tell him that she had been looking through his papers! Minerva quickly went around the desk and immediately found the parchments that Albus had left for her. She looked back up at the portrait. “I hope that if you discuss this with the Headmaster, you will first make note of the fact that the parchments he left me were on the floor behind his desk when I arrived,” Minerva said somewhat coolly.

“Of course I will, if he asks me,” came the response.

Minerva shook her head. She could feel another headache coming on. Why had life become so complicated for her? Sighing, she looked at the note that Albus had left for her. It wasn’t particularly personal, but he had said that he looked forward to seeing her. Minerva did as the note suggested and sat at his desk, only slightly distracted by the knowledge that the other list was by her right elbow and that a portrait might mention to Albus that she had seen it.

Concentrating on the matter that had brought her to the Headmaster’s office to begin with, Minerva first read through the list of journals, then turned to the advertisement seeking a Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the pre-eminent institution of magical learning in the British Isles, seeks a teacher for the Care of Magical Creatures class. Students range in age from 11 to 18. Applicant must be capable of presenting students with both lectures on the creatures covered by the curriculum and with practical exercises handling and caring for select creatures. Applicant must have experience with creatures through the XXXXX rating and ability to handle ones through the XXXX rating for demonstration purposes. Practical experience may be substituted for academic credentials. Applicant should send curriculum vita to Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Minerva thought for a moment, then at the bottom of the parchment, she wrote:

“Albus –

“I would add ‘with a letter describing their interest in the position’ after ‘curriculum vita’ – it will help in the weeding process. Also, I think it might be a good idea to mention something about salary, holidays, etc., and, just in case it’s not obvious, the fact that the position requires the teacher to take up residence at the school during term time. You might also want to leave out ‘pre-eminent institution,’ etc. Most people know of Hogwarts. Do we need to brag? Just a thought!

“After glancing at your list, I only have one other publication that you might wish to advertise in: Bestial Byways. I know it’s a popular publication, but if you’re advertising that practical experience can be substituted for academic credentials, you might reach a few likely candidates that way.”

Minerva hesitated a moment, then nodded to herself.

“By the way, when I came in to look for the list, it had fallen on the floor behind your desk. I didn’t notice it immediately and inadvertently saw a few of your other parchments while I was searching for it. I apologise if I may have unintentionally looked at any confidential documents.

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, if not at dinner tonight.

“Minerva”

There. It was awkward – and awkwardly phrased – but she didn’t want him to think she had been snooping, even though she had, just a little. He might or might not guess what she had seen; if he asked, she would tell him. And now that Minerva was over her initial surprise at seeing the lists he had made, it really didn’t bother her. After all, from what she saw, they contained nothing that he hadn’t already mentioned to her. It shouldn’t be surprising that after Albus had heard what she had said, he would try to figure out why she was upset, and the lists were typical of him. Minerva smiled slightly. It confirmed what he had said that morning about being afraid that she hated him – although he had crossed out that entry rather vehemently! And it demonstrated that he took her seriously and spent quite a bit of time trying to work out why she had been so upset yesterday morning. Albus could have just asked her, of course. But would she have told him? Probably not. And they wouldn’t have had that lovely dinner; everything would have continued as before, and she would have continued to feel she was insignificant in his life.

Minerva used a quick blotting charm on the wet ink, took his letter to her and put it in her pocket, and then arranged the other two parchments in the centre of Albus’s desk, putting the inkpot on them so that they would not fall on the floor again. Before leaving the office, she picked up her own parchments and books. As she opened the door, Fawkes glided from the shelf to his perch, singing as he crossed the room. Dilys Derwent called out, “Good-bye, Professor!” Minerva responded in kind and hoped that the headmistress had some sense of discretion. She was glad she had let Albus know that she had looked at other documents, and why. It wouldn’t look so much as though she had been snooping if he realised that she had seen the other lists he had made.

Note: Just a shortie, but I thought you might like it earlier rather than later after I had written more! I hope everyone had a nice weekend.

[Apocalypticat]

Still followin' and still enjoyin'! I get very sad whenever each update ends; I want there to be more! I'm glad Minerva saw the lists Albus made—that's still something that strikes me as very endearing.

*returns ruefully to her History essay*

[Hogwarts Duo]

YAY...an update! Just the thing I needed...if only there was more to it. haha.

I'm really thankful Minerva left Albus the note and explained that she'd seen his list. It's always better to come forward than to hope someone else passes along the message and that it's worded properly. Now, I can't wait to see what his reaction will be and I'm still rather curious about Gertie and her ulterior motives. They can't be good ones...grrrrr.

Update soon!!

[Alesia]

I just wanted to let you know I have been gone on vacation so I got to come back and read a bunch of this in one large chunk. I am still very much in love with this story and like Ang and Lisa have a few theories as to what Gertie might be up to. I think I know what the issue with Hagrid is but I will be patient until you tell us.

I, for one, don't mind multiple post in a short period of time as having more then one chapter to read at a sitting is like getting to eat both the ice cream and the cake and not feel guilty about it!

[MMADfan]

alesia said:

I just wanted to let you know I have been gone on vacation so I got to come back and read a bunch of this in one large chunk. I am still very much in love with this story and like Ang and Lisa have a few theories as to what Gertie might be up to. I think I know what the issue with Hagrid is but I will be patient until you tell us.

I, for one, don't mind multiple post in a short period of time as having more then one chapter to read at a sitting is like getting to eat both the ice cream and the cake and not feel guilty about it!

Oh, thank you! I was beginning to worry that I was posting too much or too quickly or my story was just plain too long! The nice thing about fanfic is that it calorie-free, unlike those other guilty pleasures! *grin*

I hope you had a nice vacation!

I have the story pretty well planned out, and know most of what will happen and, for the most part, when it will happen; there's still a lot to come, so the story won't be ending any time soon. (I wish I were one of those authors who could read fanfic while writing it, but it messes up my sense of the universe I've put the characters in when I do that -- my muse goes to sleep. So I'm depriving myself mightily by continuing the story -- I hope it's entertaining!)

There may be an installment posted late-ish tonight, but I'm not guaranteeing anything -- I've had a busy day & my brain is a bit fried.

Thanks for the encouraging note!

-MMADfan

[lemonygingersnaps]

I am still loving this! :-)

[MMADfan]

Note: Thank you for your encouragement! I need it -- especially with RL being the way it's being right now!

I am posting this bit tonight, and I hope you will enjoy it. It may seem like a bit of a diversion from our course, but we will be getting to Cornwall eventually, never fear! I am looking forward to the little "house party," myself!

BTW, I've made up a lot of stuff in this chapter that may sound canon-ish but isn't. You'll know it when you see it!

I had to break it into two sections because the system says it's too long to post as it is!

Part XLVI: The Attacks

Minerva returned to her office, putting her books and parchments in their proper places, then thought about tea. Going back to her rooms and using the loo, Minerva remembered her brief conversation with Hagrid earlier that day. She really ought to pay him a visit. She hadn’t seen much of him since she had returned to teach, as their paths rarely crossed. He seldom came to meals in the Great Hall, she had noticed, although she was sure that Dumbledore had made him welcome at the staff table. Likely a habit from the years when Dippet was Headmaster.

Although many people had been very fond of the previous Headmaster, Minerva’s own feelings for Armando Dippet were ambivalent. He had seemed to respect Dumbledore and value his advice, both of which Minerva approved, and by vesting the wards in Dumbledore, he had clearly been willing to hand the Transfiguration teacher a large portion of the authority that usually accompanied being Headmaster. Nonetheless, the events at the end of her sixth year had irrevocably changed her view of Headmaster Dippet. He may have been an “old softy,” as Poppy had said yesterday, but that was not always a good thing – it depended to whom he was being a “softy,” Minerva supposed. He certainly had not shown much backbone at the time, and he had not listened to his Deputy Headmaster’s advice on that occasion. Minerva remembered those frightening weeks in May and June when she had come to believe that Hogwarts might be closed for good.

Minerva had been surprised to learn at the first prefects’ meeting of her sixth year that Tom Riddle had been made a prefect. Because she had arrived early to begin her Animagus training and to learn about the project with which Dumbledore wanted her help, Minerva hadn’t been on the Hogwarts Express back to school, so when she saw Riddle approaching the classroom in which the first meeting was to be held, wearing a shiny new prefect’s badge on his robe, she was stunned. Riddle noticed her surprise at seeing him, and he looked down at her with an arrogant smile.

“Some people know quality when they see it, McGonagall,” he said, sneering as he swept past her and into the classroom.

“How could you let a bully like Riddle become prefect?” she had asked indignantly the next time she was alone with her Transfiguration teacher.

“Such things are not up to me, Minerva,” he had replied patiently.

“Yes, but you are the Deputy Headmaster, and you are in charge of the prefects. Didn’t you have anything to say in the matter?”

“As you know, the prefects are chosen, two from each House, by a vote. I am only one vote. And it was pointed out by Professor Slughorn that Mr Riddle is an exemplary student and a leader amongst the Slytherins, demonstrating two of the qualities sought in a prefect.”

“Leader,” scoffed Minerva. “He’s a bully, and you know it. He’s even a bully in his own House, even if he goes about it more subtly there. He always manages to come out smelling clean whenever there’s any trouble in Slytherin, but I’m sure that’s only because he’s learned how not to get caught. You know he will abuse his position, Professor. He was bad enough before; now he’s got the school’s blessing to intimidate students from other Houses and to push around the ones in his own – or is that what they call ‘leadership’ in Slytherin?”

Dumbledore had calmed her down and assured her that he would keep an eye on Riddle. She would, too, for that matter, but when she told her professor that, he looked at her sharply and said, “Be careful of him, Minerva. Your assessment of his character may be correct, but it is incomplete; I can say no more, but remember my warning. Try not to get on his wrong side.”

“If the only other option is to be on his right side, then I’d rather get on his wrong side.” Minerva shook her head in disbelief. He was Head of Gryffindor, and he was telling a Gryffindor to make nice to a nasty, bullying, Slytherin?

“Just be careful, please. Come see me if there is a problem. I will sort it out.”

Minerva just nodded, acknowledging what he’d said. She was almost of age, though, and she certainly wasn’t going to run to one of her teachers just because a Big, Bad Slytherin might want to intimidate her.

Over the first months of the term, she had caught the boy out after curfew several times, and never in the dungeons, where he might have a conceivable excuse to be. The first time, he had used his prefect’s badge as his excuse, but when Minerva pointed out to him that he was not on the patrol list, he claimed not to have known that curfew applied to prefects if they weren’t on patrol. He smiled at her charmingly, as though that would convince her to forget all of the times the previous year when she had almost caught him browbeating, hexing, or intimidating other students – “almost” because the students involved would always deny there was any trouble and no witnesses would admit to it, either. Minerva didn’t know what it was that Riddle said to someone that would keep them quiet everytime they could have reported his behaviour, but whatever it was, it had kept Riddle’s name out of her reports. She had actually begun to report each incident involving the Slytherin, even when there was no complaint and no specific evidence of what Minerva believed he had been doing just before she arrived, but Dumbledore told her just a few weeks into her fifth year that she had to stop making those reports.

“I’m sorry, Minerva. It looks to some as though you have a personal grudge against Mr Riddle; I have been asked to tell you not to make any more reports about him unless you actually catch him doing something that is against the school rules.”

Minerva was angry, and she did not hesitate to let her mentor know it. Was she supposed to turn a blind eye when he bullied other students, especially young ones?

“Minerva, if these students wished, they could complain to their Heads of House, even if they do not wish to speak with you about it. No one has done so. I agree with you that this fact may be meaningless in this situation; nonetheless, it is so. And I would never want you to turn a blind eye to anything that you believe is wrong, you know that. Just make unofficial reports to me when you see such things, but avoid calling unnecessary attention to yourself in the process.”

Minerva had grumbled, but had done as Professor Dumbledore requested throughout her fifth year. And now here he was, almost a year later, “Prefect” Tom Riddle, trying to charm her with his smile. She was having none of it, but knowing what the response would be if she reported him, Minerva let him go with a warning that first time she found him out after curfew. Early in October, she caught him out past curfew a second time, but Riddle had a note from Professor Slughorn with him. When Minerva pointed out that the time on the note was two hours past and that the Potions classroom in which he had supposedly been working was in the dungeons, as was his dormitory, and not on the second floor, he just laughed and told her that if she had a problem with it, she should speak with Professor Slughorn about it. Then he looked her up and down, a leer on his face, and said, “Or you could run to your Professor Dumbledore about it – it would give you another excuse to see him, after all. You should be grateful to me for that, McGonagall.” He licked his lower lip, in what Minerva presumed he thought was a lascivious way, and added, “How grateful would you be?”

Minerva suppressed a disgusted shudder. “You really are a pathetic child, you do know that, don’t you, Riddle? And I will let Professor Slughorn know that you were able to make use of his note. I am sure he will be will be most pleased with you.” The expression of fury that crossed Riddle’s face when she told him that he was a pathetic child did not escape Minerva’s notice; nonetheless, she turned her back to him and walked away, half-expecting that he would hex her. She was almost disappointed that he didn’t – she would finally have had proof that he was the nasty little snake she had always believed him to be. His insinuation about “running to Dumbledore” troubled her little – he was just a revolting Slytherin with a dirty mind. He only had friends whom he intimidated or who were useful to him; what would he understand of her relationship with her mentor? Minerva knew that he was a favourite of Slughorn’s, but she was sure that, whatever Slughorn’s thoughts were when he had admitted Riddle into his little elite group of students, Riddle was gaining more from Slughorn than Slughorn would ever profit from his acquaintance with him.

Minerva only ran into Riddle during her Prefect Patrol three more times; each time, he had a note from Professor Slughorn. Minerva thought that either he was becoming more adept at avoiding her when she patrolled, or else he was checking the Prefect Patrol schedule and had confined his lurking the halls to those nights when she wasn’t on the schedule. She never heard from other prefects that they had found him out after hours, but it wasn’t as though she had taken a poll, either.

Then one evening in May, while on Prefect Patrol, Minerva came across a horrifying sight: a student lying frozen at the feet of one of the suits of armour. As she ran to him, she could see that it was a student from Hufflepuff, a second-year, she thought. Her own heart pounding in her chest, Minerva felt for a pulse and found one. Someone must have cursed him, perhaps with Petrificus Totalis, so she lifted her wand and said, “Finite Incantatum!” When that failed to release the young boy from his petrified state, Minerva was unsure what to do. She was patrolling alone. She did not want to leave to get help, but she could do the boy no good by staying with him, either. Yelling for help on the apparently deserted second floor would probably be useless – and if the person who had done this was still around, it would attract his attention, even if no help came.

Frightened, Minerva cast Mobilicorpus and began levitating the Hufflepuff toward the hospital wing, then, remembering how Wilspy had come when she had called her, she yelled out, “Wilspy! Wilspy, come quickly, I need you!”

A second later the house-elf appeared.

“Get Professor Dumbledore! Tell him a student’s badly hurt and I’m bringing him to the hospital wing.”

Without a word, Wilspy popped away.

Levitating the frozen student, Minerva was making her way to the staircase that would lead her to the first floor and the main entrance of the infirmary when she heard someone running up the stairs. It was Dumbledore. With relief, Minerva gave the boy over to his care, and at his direction, lowered the student to the ground.

“I have sent Wilspy to fetch Madam Valentius,” he said as he knelt beside the child. Running his left hand over the boy’s body whilst casting a spell with his wand in his right, Dumbledore’s face grew more worried. “This is no curse. I do not know what caused this, but it did not come from the end of a wand.”

In the distance, they could hear others approaching the foot of the stairs on the first floor. Professor Dumbledore levitated the student and started down the stairs, calling after him for Minerva to follow.

“It’s Jeremy Flanders, Madam Valentius. He’s been petrified by something; I do not know what caused it.”

After they had brought the Hufflepuff to the infirmary, Professor Dumbledore drew her into one of the private rooms – she thought it was the one she had stayed in after her accident the previous December – and questioned her about everything she had seen and heard before she had found the boy. But Minerva could think of nothing at all out of the ordinary.

The next few weeks were terrifying. Two more students were found in a state similar to the one young Jeremy Flanders had been in. Minerva cursed herself for not having been more observant before she had discovered him. There must have been some clue that she had missed that evening, something that would have revealed what sinister force was at work, but she had seen and heard nothing, other than the drippy tap in girl’s bathroom, which was hardly unusual.

And then Myrtle was killed by the thing, whatever it was. Killed in the bathroom with the drippy tap.

Despite the new, strict rules in place, requiring all students to remain in their common rooms, to go nowhere but their classes and meals, and then only when accompanied by a teacher, Minerva slipped out of Gryffindor Tower that evening, earning a rebuke from the Fat Lady. She ran quickly down the stairs toward the first floor. She needed to see Professor Dumbledore; she was driven to see him. She didn’t even know why; she just wanted some reassurance that all was well. As she waited for the staircase between the second and third floors to come around to her, Minerva was grabbed by the shoulder, hard, and whirled around.

Note: This continues immediately.

[MMADfan]

Part XLVI: The Attacks, continued

“What do you think you are doing roaming the castle?! You should not be out of the Tower – and certainly not alone! Twenty points from Gryffindor. I expected better of you, Miss McGonagall!”

“I’m sorry, I just . . . I just,” Minerva stuttered, “I just . . . needed to see you.” She felt horrid. He had never yelled at her before; she had scarcely ever heard him raise his voice or use a sharp tone with anyone. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her face burned red with shame.

The hand still gripping her shoulder relaxed then, and she felt him giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “That is not a good enough reason to be out of your dormitory. I would not be pleased if I had to bear the news to your parents, who entrusted you to my care, that you were lying frozen in the hospital wing – or dead. If anything were to happen to you, Minerva . . . .” He spoke quietly, his face grim. “Even if you do not care what happens to you – or how I would feel about it – think at least of what it would do to your friends and family.”

This was worse than when he had shouted at her. Unable to look at him, Minerva whispered, “I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t think. I needed to see you.”

The staircase had swung toward them; Professor Dumbledore took Minerva’s elbow and started down the stairs with her. “We will go to my office and talk. You will not leave my sight. Is that understood?” he asked her quietly, but with an undertone of anger still in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” she answered softly.

He did not release her arm until they were in his classroom. He led her to his office, looked around, and then told her to sit and not to move while he warded the classroom and office. She was startled to see that in addition to warding the doors and windows, he extended the wards to the walls and even to the floor and the ceiling. He then took a pinch of Floo-Powder in his left hand, lit a small fire in the grate, and tossed the Powder in. “Gertrude Gamp’s Sitting Room,” he called out. “Professor Gamp, are you there?” When Professor Gamp responded, Dumbledore raised his wand and cast a privacy screen around himself. It was a variation on the Imperturbable Charm, and Minerva could hear nothing of what was said. He was probably telling the other teacher about Minerva and her flagrant violation of the new curfew. Minerva sank lower in her chair and looked down at her lap. After a several minutes, he rose from the hearth, extinguished the fire, and cancelled the Charm. He stood for a few moments, silently gazing into the empty fireplace.

“It is fortunate,” he finally said, sitting down in the chair behind his desk, “that I placed an additional alarm ward on the door to Gryffindor Tower.” He looked at Minerva over his glasses. “Should I also place them on the windows, Miss McGonagall, or would it be sufficient if I simply confiscated all of the brooms, hmm?” There was no hint of humour in his voice, just cold disappointment.

“No, sir.” Minerva looked at the floor. She had been foolish. If she had caught anyone else sneaking out of the Tower, for whatever reason, she would have recommended detention for the rest of their lives. A student had died, the castle was in an uproar, and she was a prefect who should not only be enforcing the rules instituted for their safety, but who should also be setting an example.

Tears welled up in her eyes again. Minerva fumbled with her prefect’s badge, removing it from her robes. She placed in on his desk and, unable to look her professor in the eye, whispered, “Here, sir.”

“I do not want your badge, Miss McGonagall. It may be meaningless in a few days, anyway. If we do not discover what has been attacking the students, Hogwarts will close. Possibly for good, if we don’t identify the cause of Myrtle MacNair’s death.”

Minerva gasped and looked up. “No!”

“Quite. Do you think that anyone – any teacher or any member of the Board of Governors – would want to invite students to attend a school at which grave injury or death is a genuine possibility? And what parent or guardian would send their child to such a school? Accidents happen, but this . . . there is a malevolent intelligence behind these attacks.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, you risked your life to come to see me, Miss McGonagall; ask whatever questions you may have.” His voice was unyielding in its expression of his displeasure with her.

Minerva took a breath and let it out shakily. She had come for reassurance, not because she had questions to ask him. But what he had said about a malevolent intelligence did raise a question in her mind, and since she certainly was not going to receive any reassurance from him, not when he was still so angry with her – justifiably so – she might as well ask a question. “People are saying something about the Heir of Slytherin, and that Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Is that the purpose of it, then, this Chamber, to destroy the school? Why, and why now, sir?”

“I think that whatever intelligence is behind these attacks has an unclear motive – killing Miss MacNair was likely an accident, of sorts. Perhaps she saw something she shouldn’t have, or she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Certainly each of the petrified students was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but those three had something in common that Miss MacNair does not – do you know what that might be, Miss McGonagall?”

Minerva thought a moment about the three students and of the pure-blood slogan that had been painted at the scenes of the second and third attacks. “None are from Slytherin, and I’m pretty sure that none of them are pure-blood. The Gryffindor, I know for a fact, is Muggle-born. But Myrtle was in Slytherin, and I don’t know what ‘purists’ would say about her family background, but I think she would be considered a pure-blooded witch.”

“Correct. What does that tell you about the purpose of the force behind these attacks?”

“Maybe that whoever it is just wants all of the Muggle-born and mixed-blood students to be frightened away from the school, or maybe he wants the school to stop admitting them?” she said tentatively.

“That is my supposition, as well. Whoever it was has made a fatal error, however, or has underestimated the value that most in the wizarding community place on all of our children, regardless of parentage. And even if I am wrong, and pure-bloods care only about their own, the school might have closed even had there been no deaths, if the attacks continued unabated – ‘pure-blood’ is just the same as any other blood, and you can’t tell by looking at someone whether they’ve a Muggle in their family line; it was only a matter of time before a mistake was made or an accident occurred and someone from a pure-blood family was injured. What pure-blood parents would take the risk of that, even if they didn’t care about Muggle-borns?”

“But wouldn’t they just want to close the school to anyone who wasn’t a pure-blood, in that case?”

Dumbledore smiled slightly for the first time. “If they were to try that, they would find they had a very small school, indeed. Hardly worth keeping Hogwarts open for them.”

“I see. Well, in that case, if the person doesn’t want the school to close, but only wants to drive away anyone who isn’t a pure-blood, he really doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he?”

“I’d say that he knows what he is doing; he just doesn’t know as much about the circumstances as he thinks he does and does not comprehend the larger consequences. Whoever it is, he has made mistakes, both in unleashing the plan and in its execution.” Dumbledore gazed out the leaded glass windows behind Minerva, where the evening shadows were beginning to lengthen across Hogwarts’ lawns.

“What about the wards, sir? Can’t you tell anything from them?” she asked.

Albus removed his glasses, placing them on his desk, and rubbed his eyes. “I have tried, but the foundational wards, which are the ones that should allow us to discover what or who is carrying out these attacks or at least whence they originate, are still not functioning as they should, despite the work I have done on them over the last four years. Most of my efforts were focussed, first, on making sure that the castle won’t physically come tumbling down around us – ” At Minerva’s alarmed expression, he added, “oh, yes, the physical integrity of the building is strongly affected by the wards – and, second, on the perimeter wards and the wards that protect the castle itself from outside intruders. These attacks must be coming from somewhere within the castle, or there is some entrance to the castle that I have not yet found.” He sighed. “I have failed to do what I was brought here to do, and now three students lie in the hospital wing and a fourth is dead.” Dumbledore seemed to slump in his chair with his final words.

“That’s not all you’ve had to worry about, though!” cried Minerva, her heart wrenched at his defeated expression. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Professor! The Ministry has had you working on the War for years; you are teaching twelve classes of students – and with each class meeting almost three hours each week, and every one of them handing in homework and tests, it’s amazing that you have time to eat or sleep! Plus you are Deputy Headmaster and Head of Gryffindor House – and that’s not even beginning to consider all of the other things you do for people, like giving me Animagus lessons. You told me yourself last summer that you could work on the wards for decades and not be able to restore them to their original condition. It makes perfect sense to start with the wards that protect the castle from intruders and that keep it from falling down around us. You aren’t superhuman, Professor; you’re just one, single wizard, no matter how powerful your magic or how strong your will! You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Minerva repeated. “Where is everybody else? What about the Headmaster? Why should you do everything? I know you have done all you could, sir. You wouldn’t have it any other way. But if you want to blame someone, blame Headmaster Black for destroying centuries worth of warding because he thought he knew better than everyone else! Or blame whoever has launched these attacks. Just don’t blame yourself.”

Albus looked at Minerva with a faint smile. “You could have just called Wilspy, you know. I would have come and fetched you. I am sure we could have thought of a legitimate reason for you to come and visit me without you endangering your life, my dear.”

Minerva teared up at his gentle expression and fond words. “I’m sorry, sir, so sorry. I just didn’t think, and it was more than stupid of me. You would be right to punish me in whatever way you see fit.” She smiled through her tears. “Please don’t expel me, though, sir, unless they decide to close the school.”

Her professor chuckled softly. “You are missing dinner. It is being served in the common rooms. As you would know if you had stayed in Gryffindor Tower. Professor Gamp kindly agreed to oversee dinner in my absence.” He chuckled at Minerva’s expression. “Yes, a Slytherin overseeing dinner in Gryffindor Tower as a favour to the Head of Gryffindor House. That is certainly not something that our antagonist would be pleased to see. I do hope that they comport themselves well. I would hate to take more points from Gryffindor today.”

Minerva looked chagrined as she remembered the points he had taken from her earlier. Not nearly as many as he could have, but probably more than all of the points she had lost over the last six years. Minerva was not one to misbehave or flout rules, despite her temper; it was part of what made her a good prefect – or it had. She still had not picked up her badge from where she had placed it on her professor’s desk.

“Sir, I think I should resign as prefect. I set a very bad example in dangerous times. This was not just breaking an ordinary curfew; Hogwarts is in terrible danger, and I behaved rashly and irresponsibly.”

“Yes, you did. And I am disappointed in you. However, your lapse in judgment, despite its potentially grave consequences, was atypical and did not lead to any harm to yourself or to anyone else – and although Gertie might qualify overseeing the supper of dozens of Gryffindor students as a harm done to her, I think she will recover!” he said with a smile. “Keep your badge, Minerva. You are more deserving of it than most, and I believe that you understand the . . . foolishness of what you did.”

“Thank you, sir.” After he had mentioned supper, Minerva realised how hungry she was. She wondered if they would save anything for her in the Tower, or if she would just have to wait until breakfast. She certainly could not expect him to feed her after what she had done.

“Of course, Miss McGonagall,” Dumbledore said sternly, “you have also made me miss my dinner, as well, since I was supposed to eat in Gryffindor Tower with the rest of you.” He looked at her over his glasses. “I need to escort you back to the Tower, however. I suppose that the only thing to do is to have you wait for me here while I eat, and then I will return you to your dormitory afterward.”

“All right, sir,” said Minerva quietly. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to eat with her. She may have been forgiven for breaking the extraordinary curfew, but that did not mean that he wasn’t still angry with her.

Dumbledore called Wilspy. “Some supper, Wilspy; just sandwiches, please. I have a meeting with Headmaster Dippet shortly.”

He got up and went to wash his hands, then returned to sit behind his desk again. Minerva sat in her chair and looked out the window as her professor put his glasses back on and began reading some parchments – student essays, she thought, though why he would bother under these circumstances mystified her. A few minutes later, Wilspy popped back into the office with a large platter of sandwiches, a pitcher of pumpkin juice, and two glasses, and then left again.

“If you want to wash your hands before you eat, you had better hurry. I am hungry and may not leave you anything!” Wilspy had brought at least five large sandwiches, so it was highly unlikely that he could eat them all himself.

Minerva washed her hands, came back, and helped herself to a very nice sandwich of cheddar, pickles, and cress. After Minerva had eaten a few bites of her sandwich, washing it down with cold pumpkin juice, Dumbledore asked, “Did you really believe that I was going to eat my supper in front of you and let you go hungry, Minerva?”

“I wasn’t sure. . . . Well, yes, actually, I did. I thought it was the least I deserved after what I’d done.”

“Oh, my dear. I thought we knew each other better than that! I was very angry – and I suppose I still am a little upset with you – but not just because you broke the rules. Surely you know that?” he asked.

Minerva swallowed the bite of sandwich she had taken. “I guess so.”

“You ‘guess so.’” He sighed. “Minerva, the danger is very real. You must know how . . . distressing it would be if anything were to happen to you? And not just for your parents.”

Minerva broke off a piece of her sandwich and crumbled a bit of the bread between her fingers. “I suppose my friends would be a little upset, too. I was upset about it when I found Jeremy, and I didn’t even know him. And I felt bad about Myrtle, even though – not to speak ill of the dead – but she was not a particularly amiable person. Still, it wasn’t anything you’d want to happen to anyone you know.”

Albus put down his sandwich and looked at her. “I do hope that you are using the word ‘friends’ in a broad sense and are including me among them.” Minerva continued to crumble the crust of her bread. “Look at me, Minerva.” Minerva raised her eyes. “There are many people who care about you and who are concerned about your safety. I am among them. To say that I would be ‘a little upset’ is an understatement. Do you understand, Minerva, why I was so angry with you?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I know how hard you have worked to help me become an Animagus. And if they don’t close the school, you’ll still have to – ”

“Minerva McGonagall! Do you honestly believe that I care about the time I spent helping you as though it were some kind of an investment? Do you truly think that I would regret your death only because you would be unable to help with the wards?” He seemed perplexed by Minerva’s response.

“I – I don’t know. I suppose you know me pretty well. It’s a bit harder when someone dies if you know them well.”

“I see.” Albus finished his glass of pumpkin juice. “And if I were to be killed by whatever attacked Miss MacNair and the others, you would just think it ‘a bit harder’ because you . . . ‘knew me pretty well’?” he asked.

“No!” Minerva cried, responding in horror at the thought of Professor Dumbledore lying cold and dead on a floor somewhere in Hogwarts. “No! That would be dreadful. I don’t think I could bear coming back to school. It wouldn’t matter if they closed it or not.” Minerva shook her head at the vision. “It would be just . . . awful . . . .” she finished quietly.

“Do you understand now why I was so angry with you, Minerva?”

“I think so. I am sorry, Professor. I just sometimes think . . . well, I’m just one student out of many, you know? Good at Transfiguration, but . . . .”

Albus shook his head. “Minerva, you are one student out of many; the one student out of many; the only one who is Minerva McGonagall. But right now we need to get you back to Gryffindor Tower so that I can go to my meeting.” He rose and banished the remains of their supper. “You know, you really do need to work on your . . . confidence. It is one thing to be modest and unassuming about one’s talents, and quite another not to recognise one’s value, one’s importance, in the lives of others.”

They walked rapidly back to Gryffindor Tower. Minerva noticed that all of the staircases they took led them just to where they needed to go, and she wondered if that was because Professor Dumbledore was the Keeper of the Wards. When they reached the seventh floor, Minerva stopped and put a tentative hand out to touch her professor’s left arm. She had avoided physical contact with him since the day of her accident, touching him only when necessary, which was seldom. Now, though, she allowed herself to touch his upper arm and to leave her hand resting on it lightly. She could feel the vibration of his magic through his robes.

Very softly, although there was not even a portrait nearby, she said, “Sir, I am sorry. Really. Especially for scaring you. I have been scared for your safety sometimes. Often, actually. But you are, well, you are you, and I always have faith that you will be all right, that you will survive any dangers you face and always come back.” She swallowed. “But if you didn’t . . . . I think I understand what you meant earlier, when you said what you did . . . about it not having to do with an investment of time. And about one’s value in the lives of others. I appreciate it, Professor. Thank you.”

Albus reached up with his right hand and patted hers where it rested on his arm. “Very good. And you will have detention with me when this is over, just to make sure that you do not forget your error in judgment. . . . Provided we don’t have to close the school, of course.”

Minerva dropped her hand, and they walked the rest of the way to the Fat Lady’s portrait in silence.

“Brought this one back, did you, Professor?” asked the portrait. “When she left, I thought I’d probably seen the last of her.”

Dumbledore ignored the Fat Lady’s remarks and just gave the password. “Periwinkle,” he said. “I will see you . . . sometime. Perhaps tomorrow. Good-evening, Miss McGonagall!”

“Good-evening, Professor Dumbledore.” Minerva entered Gryffindor Tower to find the common room empty except for Professor Gamp. It was truly a peculiar sight for Minerva to see her Slytherin Arithmancy teacher, feet up on an ottoman in front of the fireplace, reading a scholarly journal in the empty Gryffindor common room and eating an apple.

Note: Do you want to know what Gertie said when Minerva got back to the Gryffindor common room? You'll have to wait a little while for that, I'm afraid. ;D

Next: We learn about what happened to Hagrid after Myrtle's death (yes, I know we know what happened to him --TR was kind enough to show Harry what he did) and why Minerva came to have less-than-warm feelings toward Armando Dippet. Also to come, Minerva visits Hagrid and tries to find out what was bothering him during lunch. And then there's her meeting with Albus, and then finally she will Portkey to Cornwall and try to figure out what's up with Gertrude. I'm looking forward to that myself!

BTW, I actually think it quite likely that canon-Minerva was one of the Basilisk's victims the first time the Chamber was opened -- either that, or a close friend of hers was; it would explain why she teared up when Harry told her that he and Ron were going to the hospital wing to visit Hermione and tell her the mandrake potion would be ready soon. (It's been a while since I've read the books, but that's what I remember of the scene.) I did go back and review the passage in CoS in which TR shows Harry how he framed Hagrid, however, since I couldn't remember the whole thing very well (although Harry doesn't know that Hagrid was framed when TR shows him the incident).

I did consider having Minerva be one of the petrified victims, then decided against it. It seemed too predictable somehow.

I hope you enjoyed this installment! Sorry if the next one takes a while, but RL does make a few demands on one's time!

[Hogwarts Duo]

Wow...this was certainly an intense chapter from start to finish. And I understand now why you said things "could have been" canon but actually weren't. I think you did a remarkable job with that aspect of this chapter.

I was so sad to see Albus being angry with Minerva though I understand it was out of his own fear that something might happen rather than him actually being 'angry' with her. And his little admission was so sweet and touching. PERFECTLLY DONE and in keeping with his character!!!

Thanks for the update...now where's the next part? ;D

Cheers!
Ang

[MMADfan]

Part XLVII: Professor Gamp’s Suggestion

Professor Gamp looked up when Minerva entered Gryffindor Tower, but remained seated. Minerva hesitated, then greeted her Arithmancy teacher.

“Good-evening, Professor Gamp.”

“Miss McGonagall.” Professor Gamp nodded at her.

Minerva began to cross to the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitory.

“Miss McGonagall, a word, please.”

Minerva turned toward Professor Gamp.

“I do not particularly wish to shout across the room at you, Miss McGonagall.”

Minerva walked over to the Slytherin teacher. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Have a seat.”

Minerva sat down on the edge of the chair across from Professor Gamp.

Professor Gamp removed her feet from the ottoman, put Arithmancy Today down on the table beside her, tossed her apple core into the fireplace, and then just looked at Minerva for a moment. “I am sure I do not need to tell you that what you did was foolish and dangerous.”

“No, Professor, I understand that,” Minerva said, looking at the severe teacher.

“Do I also need to tell you that Professor Dumbledore has many worries, many responsibilities, and many, many demands on his time?”

“No, ma’am,” Minerva answered quietly.

“Then perhaps you might spend the rest of the evening examining precisely why you engaged in behaviour that would increase the already significant burdens on him. You are not a child, Miss McGonagall. You have taken on an adult’s responsibilities, and you have carried yourself well, for the most part. Needless to say, your behaviour today showed none of the intelligence and maturity you normally display, not to mention that it exhibited a profound disregard for Professor Dumbledore’s well-being. I never would have expected that of you, Miss McGonagall.”

Minerva did not know how to respond. She was uncomfortable under Professor Gamp’s scrutiny, and yet she could not argue with any of the witch’s statements.

“I know, Professor. I am sorry.”

“Hmmpf. ‘Sorry.’ That’s fine, but what will you do to make reparations? And will you engage in such behaviour again the next time the mood strikes you?” Minerva opened her mouth to respond, but Professor Gamp cut her off. “Those were questions for you to think about, not questions requiring perfunctory, off-the-cuff responses, Miss McGonagall. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so, Professor.” Minerva was surprised that Professor Gamp was taking the time to speak to her, and in such a manner. She and Professor Gamp had, of course, spoken outside of class before, but, aside from mundane pleasantries, their conversations had never touched anything outside of Minerva’s Arithmancy homework. Minerva had the impression that Professor Gamp was concerned not only about Minerva’s breaking the rules, but also about Professor Dumbledore and about Minerva herself.

“Your fellow Gryffindors apparently found the presence of a . . . teacher in their common room somewhat inhibiting, and they have retired to their dormitories for the night. I suggest you do the same, Miss McGonagall.”

“Yes, ma’am. And thank you.”

“Good-night, then, Miss McGonagall.”

“Good-night, Professor Gamp.” Minerva rose and walked quickly to the stairs and started up them as fast as she could without appearing to be rude. When she reached her room at the top of the tower, her roommates were not there. Probably gathered in one of the other girls’ rooms, for gossip or for comfort. No doubt they had all noticed that she was missing, and no doubt, as well, they found it odd that Professor Dumbledore had Professor Gamp oversee their dinner in the Tower.

She threw herself on her bed and kicked off her shoes. Rolling over onto her stomach, Minerva closed her eyes and tried not to think. Then, letting out a deep sigh, she remembered Professor Gamp’s questions. As much as she might resent Professor Gamp’s presumption in lecturing her after she had already been thoroughly scolded by Professor Dumbledore, she had to admit that the Arithmancy teacher had made several good points. And, if Minerva was honest with herself, she recognised that Professor Gamp had actually treated her more like an adult than she might have, given the circumstances. She had presumed that Minerva already had recognised the idiocy of her earlier actions, for one thing.

Minerva supposed that the least she could do was to take seriously Professor Gamp’s advice to think about what she’d done, why she’d done it, and how she could prevent it from happening again. And, of course, how to make amends for it. Minerva presumed that Professor Gamp meant that she should make “reparations” to Professor Dumbledore, but she hadn’t a clue of how to go about it. As to not repeating her behaviour, there was little chance of that. And she certainly would think twice before doing anything even slightly rash in the future. As to why she had done it . . . she had thought that she had wanted Professor Dumbledore’s reassurance that all would be well, but it wasn’t merely that which had driven her from the dormitory that evening. She had, after all, been trying to avoid spending too much time with him unless the two of them were working on her Animagus training. To have sought reassurance from him was only a small part of the reason she had sought him out that evening. There was something else, something niggling at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite lay her finger on it. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep, she would be able to figure out what was bothering her, Minerva decided. As to reparations . . . that could be a long-term plan, provided, of course, that Hogwarts remained open. OWLs and NEWTs were supposed to be taking place. Would they even continue to hold exams under these circumstances?

Minerva changed into her nightgown and opened the window to let in some fresh air. As she did so, she remembered how Dumbledore had asked whether he should place wards on the windows, as well as on the door. He had been so disappointed in her. And not just because she’d broken the rules, or because she had placed herself in danger, but also because she did not recognise how much he valued her life.

Minerva sighed and sat down on her bed. She could not afford to acknowledge that she might be at all important to Professor Dumbledore. If she did that, she would no doubt begin to exaggerate her importance in his life, and then who knew where such thoughts would lead, but it could certainly only bring her more heartache. Still, it was nice that he had made it clear that he cared about her, cared for her, even in the midst of his anger with her. Perhaps she could allow herself to recognise that he cared for her as . . . as an exceptional student of Transfiguration, and perhaps also like a niece or something. As long as she didn’t develop any delusions that he could care for her in any other way, perhaps she could allow herself to appreciate the affection that he actually did have for her.

Minerva fell into a fitful sleep, waking only briefly when her roommates returned at about midnight. She dreamed of the girls’ bathroom in which Myrtle was killed, dreaming that she was on Prefect Patrol, feeling that there was someone watching her, someone nearby, but there was only a drippy tap; then there was water steadily flowing across the floor, and she saw Myrtle lying in the water, cold and still, unseeing eyes fixed on the sink with the drippy tap, the tap that was flooding the bathroom. Minerva tried to turn off the tap, but no matter what she did, the water would not stop dripping, and she could feel someone watching her. Minerva awoke with a start. The drippy tap. Probably nothing, but Minerva could not shake her sense of unease that there was something about it that was not normal.

After tossing and turning, listening to her roommates breathing, Minerva finally got up, slipped her feet into her slippers, grabbed her dressing gown from its hook next to her wardrobe, and walked down the stairs to the common room. At almost three o’clock in the morning, Professor Gamp was, of course, no longer there. Nervous in the empty common room with all that had happened over the last few weeks, Minerva spelled all the candles alight and sat on the couch. This was stupid; it was probably nothing. But Professor Gamp had told her to think about why she had felt it necessary to seek out Professor Dumbledore in such a foolhardy manner, and Minerva thought it was because, somewhere in the back of her mind, there was something about that girls’ bathroom that bothered her. She hadn’t been aware of it when she’d gone haring out of Gryffindor Tower, but she was aware of it now.

Sighing at the thought of disturbing her professor when he surely needed his rest, Minerva finally called for Wilspy. The house-elf appeared immediately, wrapped in a terry-cloth towel with another smaller one wrapped around her head like a scarf. Minerva wondered if the elf slept like that, but didn’t spare it much thought.

“Wilspy, I hate to disturb Professor Dumbledore, but there’s something I’ve remembered, and I need to tell him. Could you see if I can see him, please?”

“Yes, Miss Minerva, I will go now and ask him.” Wilspy immediately Disapparated.

Minerva waited anxiously. She wondered if she should have gotten dressed before calling Wilspy, and she pulled her dressing gown more closely around her, tying the sash in a firm bow. Less than ten minutes later, the portrait hole opened and Professor Dumbledore ducked through it. He was wearing the same dark blue robes she had seen him in several hours ago. It didn’t look as though he had had any rest that night. Minerva felt even guiltier about her stunt the previous evening.

“You wished to see me, Miss McGonagall?” Professor Dumbledore asked as he crossed the room toward her.

Minerva stood. “Yes, it’s probably nothing, Professor, but I think I remembered something. I was dreaming, and I – ”

“Not here,” he replied, looking about the room. “Come.”

He led her out of the common room, warding the door behind them, then down the broad corridor to a narrow hall, where they went down a short flight of stairs where they took a sharp right turn, walked a few more yards and went up a seemingly identical set of stairs to a narrow hallway. Minerva had no idea where they were until she recognised the hallway from the prior August when she had stayed in Professor Dumbledore’s guest room.

Dumbledore traced a pattern in the air in front of a portrait of a rather bellicose-looking woman, leaving streams of gold trailing from the end of his wand. He then uttered a password, “Featherlight-Fudge,” and the door opened. After they entered his sitting room, he turned and traced similar patterns in the air in front of the door, this time leaving traces of brilliant blue and red.

“A few precautions were necessary,” he said as he turned back to Minerva. “Please have a seat. What did you remember?”

Minerva sat in a flowered overstuffed armchair and told him about her dream. “And that made me remember the drippy tap. Ever since, I don’t know, late November or early December, I’d often get a peculiar feeling when I patrolled the second floor. I had caught Riddle out after curfew several times, and at least three times that I remember, he was on the second floor. So when I had that odd feeling, I thought that he might be somewhere, trying to avoid me, but I never found him or anyone else. I remember the first time this happened, I had thought I’d heard something, and all I found was a drippy tap in the girls’ bathroom. A few other times when I patrolled the second floor, the tap would be dripping.” Minerva looked at Professor Dumbledore to see if she could tell whether he thought she was being ridiculous, but he was just listening to her, apparently taking her seriously. “But the thing is, Professor, I’ve used that bathroom during the day, and the tap isn’t dripping. And it’s always the same tap. Just before I found Jeremy, I had found the tap dripping again and had turned it off. It’s the same bathroom where Myrtle was found. I don’t know why, but it bothered me and I thought you should know. It probably doesn’t mean anything,” she finished lamely.

“I think it probably is meaningful, Minerva, although its significance isn’t apparent at the moment. Thank you for telling me.” He paused and gazed at her. “Is that why you were coming to see me earlier?”

Minerva wished she could have told him that it had been, but she shook her head. “No. There was something bothering me, but I didn’t know what it was. Something in the back of my mind . . . I just couldn’t figure it out . And then Professor Gamp said . . . .” Minerva didn’t really want to repeat to Professor Dumbledore what her Arithmancy teacher had told her. But Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Yes? What did she say to you?”

“Well, she suggested,” Minerva hesitated briefly, then continued, “she suggested that I think about what had caused me to behave as I had.”

“A wise witch, wouldn’t you say, Minerva?” Her professor spoke over steepled hands. He made no further comment about what Professor Gamp had said, nor about the possible significance of the drippy tap. “I had hoped to get some rest tonight,” he said with a sigh.

Minerva could see now the dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed to have aged a decade in the last few weeks. “I think you should, sir. I don’t know that anything can be done to investigate that bathroom right now, anyway. And it was always sometime between ten o’clock and midnight that I would find the tap dripping. All of the attacks took place during the day or evening hours. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow; besides, you should probably have someone with you. Everyone who was attacked was alone at the time – except for the attacker, of course. You shouldn’t investigate it on your own. Remember what you said to me about one’s importance in the lives of others – don’t take any unnecessary risks, yourself, sir.” Minerva felt hypocritical, and even slightly foolish, asking her professor, with all of his years of experience, not to take unnecessary risks, when she, a mere witch of seventeen, had taken a truly unnecessary risk for no particularly good reason just a few hours before.

Professor Dumbledore smiled slightly, though, and said, “You are correct, Miss McGonagall. But we do need to return you to Gryffindor Tower before I can retire for the night – or what’s left of it.”

“Sir? It may not be a good idea, but if you’d like, I could stay next door. It’s after three-thirty already. By the time you get back, it will be at least four o’clock.”

He sighed. “Probably not the wisest idea, actually, but . . . . Wilspy!”

Wilspy appeared, this time in her usual tea-towel attire. “Yes, sir?”

“Are there clean linens on the bed in the guest room?”

“Yes, sir. They’s fresh and clean.”

“Very well. Miss McGonagall will be spending the remainder of the night there. Could you go to her dormitory and fetch her a change of clothes, please?”

After Wilspy left, Minerva said, “That wasn’t really necessary, sir.”

“I think it would be highly inappropriate for you to wander about the corridors tomorrow morning dressed as you are now. When I escort you back to Gryffindor in the morning, I would prefer not to give the impression that you arrived in the middle of the night, as you did, and then remained here. It is most . . . irregular.”

“Of course.” Minerva felt her face grow hot. Of course: some people might draw the wrong conclusions if she left his chambers in the morning dressed in nothing but a nightgown, bathrobe, and slippers. And now that her own feelings toward him had changed since the last time she had spent the night in his guest room, she could see that it was not such a far-fetched idea – except, of course, for the fact that Professor Dumbledore would never entertain an improper relationship with a student. Still, given the amount of time that people knew the two spent together, she could see how they might speculate about the propriety of her professor’s interactions with her. She doubted very much that anyone had engaged in such speculation yet – except a toe-rag like Riddle – but in a small community like that at Hogwarts, it wouldn’t take very much to start up a rumour about a Transfiguration teacher and his pet student spending a night together in his rooms.

Still, she had suggested it, and it was getting later. He needed all the sleep he could get, Minerva reasoned. “I know where everything is, Professor; I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She rose. “Good-night, Professor.”

“Good-night, Minerva. Wilspy will wake you.”

Minerva went into the little room in which she had stayed that one night the previous summer. It looked quite a bit different. There were two large bookcases on either side of the bed, standing in front of the windows, and a few shelves filled with neat stacks of parchment were against the wall next to the small, empty desk. Dumbledore must have had Wilspy move all of those things into the sitting room when she had stayed there before. She realised only then that the windows of Dumbledore’s sitting room were now unobstructed but for the heavy burgundy-coloured draperies that covered them.

Minerva lay down on the bed, sure she wouldn’t sleep, only to awaken to Wilspy’s voice calling to her.

“Miss Minerva! Miss Minerva, time to get up. Robes are on the dresser. Must get up now!”

Minerva was exhausted, but she stumbled out of bed and into the little bathroom, snagging her robes on her way in. Wilspy had brought her a plain robe, her student uniform robe, and shoes and stockings. No knickers. Oh, well. She wasn’t wearing any at the moment, since she never did when wearing a nightgown or, rarely, pyjamas. She splashed her face with cold water, rinsed her mouth, and used her wand to smooth her hair down. Wilspy popped into the bathroom just as she was finishing, startling her.

“Wilspy will take your nightwear. Please leave nightwear on the floor. All of it. Slippers, too.”

Even though Wilspy would not be freed if Minerva handed her clothing, as Minerva had no authority over the house-elf, the elf was naturally averse to taking any clothing directly from Minerva’s own hand. “Of course, Wilspy. Thank you.”

Minerva went to the sitting room to find her professor waiting for her. He was dressed in dove grey robes with dusky purple trim, and he appeared slightly better rested than he had a few hours before.

“We have time for a cup of tea before we leave, Minerva. The Houses are having breakfast in their common rooms. Exams have been cancelled for the day, and everyone is confined to the dormitories this morning. Lunch will be held in the Great Hall, however, and certain announcements will be made at that time. I suggest you wait in the common room for your fellow students to join you. With luck, there will be no one up yet when you arrive. Best to avoid awkward questions. Although, if you are asked, do not lie about anything. You may omit mention of whatever you wish to, of course.” He smiled slightly.

Minerva poured their tea, which they drank in silence. After they had finished, Dumbledore lifted the wards he had cast the night before, then warded the portrait behind them again when they left. As they walked down the narrow hallway toward the seventh floor corridor, they could hear something that sounded like someone coming up the main staircase to the seventh floor. Her professor did not hesitate, however, so neither did Minerva. As they walked down the hallway toward the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Professor Dustern came toward them.

“I was just coming to find you, Professor Dumbledore.” She looked at Minerva when she said this. “I had some questions about breakfast in the common rooms and what will be expected of the Heads of House today.”

“I will meet you in your office in a few minutes, Professor,” he replied to the Charms teacher. “I had a meeting with Miss McGonagall, who, as you are no doubt aware, was the one who found Jeremy Flanders, also on the second floor where Miss MacNair met her fate.”

Professor Dustern’s expression did not change, revealing nothing of her thoughts. “I will see you in a few minutes, then, Professor.” She turned back and started down the stairs toward the third floor, where her office was. Minerva and her professor continued to the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“I hope I didn’t cause you any problems, Professor.”

“No, Minerva, you did not. I chose to respond when you called Wilspy this morning. I could have sent her back with a message and met with you later today. The information you have given me . . . I do not understand its meaning at the moment, but I do believe that it is important, and that, with time, its importance will become clearer. I may need to speak with you again this afternoon after lunch. It might be wise to question all of the prefects about what they have seen and heard over the last several months.”

“Don’t bother with Riddle, though, sir. He would lie just for the sake of lying and getting away with it, I think. Besides, he’s the one I caught out after curfew.”

“But not recently?”

“No, not recently,” Minerva admitted.

“Well, my dear, I will see you at eight o’clock. Please let the other prefects know that I will be arriving for breakfast at that time, hmm?”

Minerva gave the password to the Fat Lady as her professor waited behind her to replace the alarm ward on the door. Fortunately, there was no one in the common room, and Minerva found a book to read and settled down on the couch to read until seven o’clock, which she judged was late enough to go around to the other prefects and tell them about breakfast. If they asked, she would just say that she hadn’t been able to sleep and had been in the common room when Professor Dumbledore came by. She just wouldn’t mention that that had been at three o’clock in the morning.

Note: The next chapter is titled "Hagrid," so you can guess what it will be about! *grin*

[Hogwarts Duo]

Ya know...the more I read of Professor Gamp, the more I dislike her. There's just something about her...ugh!

Anyway, very interesting chapter and it was nice to see Minerva being so concerned about Albus' health and then staying in his guest rooms. Awww.

Hmmm, Hagrid you say...can't imagine what on earth that chapter would be about!