The Effect

[minervathefeline]

For those of you who have been following, this is the prequel to Two's a Company. It explains most of the stuff behind it, but you don't have to read it first. (Although I would really like it if you did!)
I know I say this every time, but PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy, REVIEW. Even if it's to say the story is total crap. It takes five seconds, and it makes my day.

Here we go. Summary: Minerva wakes up one morning to find that life as she knows it has changed beyond recognition. How will this affect, not only her relationship with Dumbledore, but everyone else around her? AU, post-DH.

Rating: PG-13. Probably. I've never been good with the whole rating thing.

The Effect

Chapter 1

The first day of summer vacation dawned bright and warm. The change in atmosphere from last summer seemed almost tangible; the sky actually looked bluer, the grass greener, the sun looked brighter and warmer, and Hogwarts even seemed more sturdy and welcoming than ever before. Professor McGonagall arose at her usual ungodly hour, her bare feet hitting the cold stone floor with a familiar slap.

She turned to the window and surveyed the grounds, pulling the curtains open and unfastening the latch on the window. It felt good to finally open her window without fearing what might come inside.

She pulled on her tartan dressing gown as she passed it, swinging her braid back over her shoulder so that it hung down her back. She used the loo that was adjacent to her bedroom, then exited into her sitting room. Opening the curtains in there too, she turned at the sound of a loud crack behind her.

A small house-elf stood there, holding a cup of steaming tea on a saucer over her head. Still, McGonagall had to bend down in order to reach it.

“Thank you, Florry,” she replied, grateful that Florry remembered that she liked her tea in the morning. Well, needed was probably a more accurate term. McGonagall may have been a morning person, but she still needed something to get her going.
Instead of replying, “Good-morning, Professor,” as Florry usually did, accompanied by a curtsey, she stared at her mistress in shock.
“Mistress McGonagall,” the small house-elf gasped, “you is looking amazing today. Florry is wondering what has happened!”
McGonagall frowned at the elf. “What are you talking about?” she asked. Florry shook her head.

“Mistress hasn’t seen herself yet? Florry thought her mistress knew!” The elf shook her head again, her large ears flapping vigorously. Quickly losing patience with the elf, McGonagall turned to the large mirror that hung on the wall above the fireplace mantle, and gasped.

What had happened? She barely resembled the person she’d been yesterday! She was getting on in years, she knew that; she would be seventy-three in October. But now…now, she looked more like a twenty-year-old than a woman in her seventies! Her skin, which only yesterday and been rather wrinkled, drooping slightly off the frame of her face, was now tight and smooth, a flawless, pale membrane that covered, now that she checked, her entire body.

She dropped her gaze to her hands, turning them over as she examined the long fingers and perfect nails. She returned her gaze to the mirror, still dumbfounded by her appearance.
Her lips were full, a perfect double curve, and the corners were bent downwards in a frown as she surveyed herself. Her jaw was strong but delicate, and just above that, her ears, partially covered by her braided black hair. She had high cheekbones that cut across her face, and just above them, her eyes.

Her eyes were sharp, excellent at spotting lies in a student and trouble in a mass of people. They had become an indefinable colour with age, some days grey, others green, and still others a dark hazel. But now, looking so much younger, they were deep green, framed by thick, long lashes and slanting, thin, sceptical eyebrows.

She’d always been tall, and that hadn’t changed. Her posture had never been tired, per se, just a little worn, but now it seemed determined and defiant, giving her the appearance of an independent woman who could and would take care of herself, which is exactly what she was.

Suddenly, she whirled around, stalked to her bedroom, dressed, (though the robes needed some alterations), and re-braided her hair, not having the patience to put it up. Besides, she had a feeling it would look sort of silly in a bun. Snatching her wand and stowing it in her robes, she swept out the door, not even noticing how much more energy she had than usual.

Professor McGonagall stood on the spiral staircase, tapping her foot with increasing impatience the nearer she drew to the top. When the staircase had come to a stop, she knocked on the door to Dumbledore’s office. When there was no answer, she scowled, drew her wand, unlocked the door, and let herself in.
She stormed through his office, marched up the stairs, and knocked on the door to his private study. There was no answer.

“Dumbledore!” she shouted, pounding on the door. “Wake up! Dammit, Albus, get up!” When there was still no answer, McGonagall dropped her fist in defeat, growling to herself, only to look up as the door swung open.

Then there was a moment when neither of them spoke, only to stare at each other in shock. Dumbledore looked as different as McGonagall did.
He had dark, tousled auburn hair that was a good deal shorter than it had been only yesterday. It reached just past his shoulders and looked clean and thick. His beard reached the middle of his chest and appeared thick and somewhat rough. His bright blue eyes still sparkled but his face hadn’t a single crease or wrinkle, except for the laugh lines near his eyes.

As she watched, Dumbledore’s mouth dropped open in a small round ‘o’, stunned into silence.
“Dumbledore?” McGonagall asked, her delicate eyebrows arched. She rose up onto her toes to better look him in the eye. “Albus?”
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Well, this is interesting,” he said thoughtfully, but he sounded slightly hoarse.

“That’s one way of putting it,” McGonagall snapped. “Any ideas?” Dumbledore chuckled, finally seeming to break out of his trance. He grinned down at her, his eyes twinkling madly.
“My dear Professor, let’s take this a little slower, shall we? Why don’t you go down and wait in my office while I get dressed, get yourself a cup of tea,”—she never knew how, but he always seemed to know when she hadn’t had her cup of tea in the morning—“and I’ll be down shortly to see what has happened. This is certainly interesting.”

McGonagall glanced at his clothes and only then noticed that he was wearing a long white nightdress with his purple embroidered nightgown overtop. She also couldn’t help noticing that he was very thin, as always, but his shoulders seemed slightly broader, and his hands stronger, today.

“Er, yes, alright then,” she muttered, turning away and heading for the stairs that led to his office. She could hear him chuckling behind her.

* * *

“Well?” she asked impatiently as Dumbledore rose to his feet, turning away from the fireplace and towards her.
“I really don’t know what happened, Minerva,” he said. “Kingsley looks just like we do, and he says that everyone he’s seen so far has experienced similar effects. He’ll contact other ministries to see if it’s only the British that have been affected.”
McGonagall sighed and took a sip of tea. She didn’t like this, not at all.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “You do look ravishing, Minerva, if I may say so,” he said, his eyes twinkling madly.
McGonagall opened her mouth, but just then a volley of knocks sounded on the office door. This was good, in a way, because she couldn’t think of anything to say.

Dumbledore swept to the door to allow the person in. McGonagall rose to her feet and turned as the newcomer swept in. It was Severus Snape.

McGonagall could hardly contain the smirk that crossed her face at the sight of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. She wasn’t really a smirking person, but Snape seemed to bring out the worst in her.

He had long black hair that reached his shoulders, but it actually looked washed. His skin was pale, not sallow like it usually was. His nose was still hooked, but his face was younger, more youthful looking. The lines that had appeared with stress over the years were gone, but there was a crease in forehead that she suspected was due to the current situation.

There was a semi-awkward moment as they stared at each other, registering who it was. McGonagall knew that, out of the three of them, she looked the most different. He wasn’t hard to recognize, having taught him for seven years, then worked alongside him for seventeen. Well, not exactly alongside him—she was still deputy headmistress. There was that last year that he had been headmaster, but she had mentally repressed that awful time, even though it was only a month ago.

Lost in her depressing recollections, she turned from Snape back to the desk, where Dumbledore was already seated. She sank down weakly in her chair, gripping her teacup hard. She knew what was coming. One of her flashbacks.

“Where’s Longbottom?” she demanded of her seventh year Gryffindors, panic gripping her instantly. She searched the sea of faces, looking for one that would help. Seamus Finnegan was pale, she noted. “Mr Finnegan?” she asked, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. From the look on his face, she hadn’t succeeded. “I—I don’t know,” he answered, his voice breaking. “We just had Muggle Studies, and…” The look on his face wasn’t because of her, McGonagall realized with horror. Longbottom had aggravated the Carrows. Again. She nodded mutely. “Thank you, Mr Finnegan,” she said briskly. As she carried on with the lesson, she remembered the first time this had happened. A wave of what seemed remarkably like nausea had swept over her. “Behave,” she’d told them. Then she’d left them, marching down the corridor, heading for Snape’s office. She’d knocked at the door at the end of the spiral staircase, realizing too late that there were voices, angry voices, inside. She’d pushed open the door, revealing a highly irritated Severus Snape and an extremely pale Neville Longbottom. “Professor McGonagall, what can I do for you?” he’d asked in his silky voice. “I came to find out where my student is,” she had snapped. “I’m afraid Longbottom was sent to see me by Professor Carrow,” Snape had said, not sounding sorry in the least. “Well, I’m afraid that Longbottom is missing class, so if you’ll excuse us, Professor, I’m sure he will report for detention with Professor Carrow tonight—he certainly won’t be the only one,” McGonagall had replied boldly. “Come along, Mr Longbottom.” Snape had half risen, furiously, from his chair, but she’d already pushed Longbottom ahead of her and out the office. Neither of them spoke on the way back to the classroom. It was quieter than a funeral. They, her students, looked amazed as she returned, and hopeful, and McGonagall had hoped to Merlin she could keep them hopeful, but it hadn’t lasted. They’d had a visitor that night, in the staff room. The Carrows hadn’t been happy with her. Now, when a student went missing during class, she could do nothing. Before, where there’d been that flicker of hope, there was only that dull look of horror on their faces. Her students…she tried to protect them, but there was only so much she could do. Only so much she could do against the Death Eaters…
This year would never end.

“Minerva? Are you alright?” McGonagall gradually became aware of Dumbledore talking to her, kneeling in front of her, hand half-raised as if to grip her shoulder. It dropped when she focused. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

“Yes,” she replied, but her voice was barely a whisper, and it broke. She cleared her throat but could say no more. She became aware of blood running down her wrist; she was holding the teacup so hard she’d cracked the rim. She relinquished her hold on it, and the blood flowed from her hand more freely.
Those flashbacks came unexpectedly now, taking her over completely, and as clear as if she was seeing the memory in a Pensieve. Inescapable, because she didn’t know what triggered them. All she could do was wait for them to be done.

Dumbledore had made a movement towards her. She looked at the blood flowing from her hand and clenched it into a fist. That year was over, it was done. She closed her eyes. Physical pain was so much easier. She had to let it go. This was hard on Albus, she knew. He’d had to leave, pretending he was dead, faking his own death. He’d left her, left them all, in hell. McGonagall swallowed. He was back now, that was what mattered. If this was the price for his return, so be it.

He leaned towards her now, offering her a long bandage. She took it and wrapped it around the cut. Dumbledore took her hand and squeezed it gently. She saw the Temporary Sticking Charm fasten the end of the bandage.

She felt someone move beside her, and she glanced up at Snape. She recognized that look in his eyes—it was the one she felt reflected in hers. That look of helplessness, of horror, the look of person stuck in the bottom of a grave. She knew that he knew what she was thinking. The look in his eyes made it too real, though; she looked away first.

Dumbledore was looking between them, and the pain on his face made him look ancient despite the youthfulness.
“I’m sorry,” Snape whispered. McGonagall had nothing to say.
Snape sank into another chair, and they sat in silence for a while, forgetting the reason they were all there together, each lost in their own memories…

A loud knock on the door jolted them all back to reality. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore opened the door, and there stood an anxious, young-looking Filius Flitwick and Poppy Pomfrey.

TBC

Well, there you are! Let me know what you all think, even if you hate it, that's good too! Sort of. Whatever. Reviews, and you will get another chapter, and maybe some e-galleons.

Oh yes, and in case you hadn't noticed, my fics generally revolve around Dumbledore and Snape being alive, as I generally prefer this to death. Despite what Dumbledore thinks about death being 'the next great adventure', I would prefer it if they were alive. However, as seen in Two's a Company, most everyone else that was supposed to die, dies. If you disagree, well, too bad. I'm happily in denial.

I have rambled on enough for all of you, I think, so I'll shut up now. Let the reviews begin!

[Rosemary Dumbledore McGonagall]

WOW OH WOW! This is so cool! I ain't kidding! Keep it up!

[Phantomgirl817]

Please Continue I want to know what happens next. This story is Awesome!

[minervathefeline]

Okay, folks, here we go: the next installment!

Thanks to Rosemary for the first review...she always seems to be there for me, doesn't she? Thank youuuu!
And also to Phantomgirl, who actually reviewed.
PEOPLE! Unless more reviews come my way, there will be no more posting! I'm sorry, really, I am, but unless I know what everybody thinks, I'm not posting any more. So review!!

Chapter 2

McGonagall pressed her fingers to her temples, elbows on the table, trying to push the voices of her colleagues out of her head. They’d moved to the staffroom after Spout, Slughorn, and Hooch had arrived, crowding Dumbledore’s office. They now sat around the table in the staffroom, and they all seemed determined to throw in their opinions, apparently under the illusion that someone was actually listening.

McGonagall glanced at Dumbledore, whom she was sitting next to. He was surveying them all with amused patience. Well, maybe he could stand to listen to them all day, but she certainly couldn’t. It was already mid-morning.

Gritting her teeth, she stood abruptly, her chair scraping the stone floor.

“Alright, SHUT IT!” she yelled. They froze in shock, staring at her. Some were half raised from their seats, leaning forwards to better demand attention.

“Sit,” she ordered. They all sank into their chairs.

“Now,” she said, lips white, jaw clenched. “Screaming at each other like students is not helping. In fact, it is the opposite. So if you have something to say that is actually helpful, wait until someone is actually listening. As far as I know,” she growled, “no one at this table knows anything more about the current situation that anyone else. Why you are all so eager to share what you don’t know is beyond me. However, if you have a hidden reserve of knowledge, feel free to share it now.”

No one spoke. They stared at her with expressions remarkably like fear.

“That’s what I thought,” McGonagall said coldly. “Now may I suggest we keep out mouths shut and listen to what other people have to say? Preferably one at a time. Rolanda,” she continued, seating herself, “I thought I heard you say something interesting.”

It them all a moment to recover. Dumbledore was chuckling silently, but McGonagall ignored him. She settled in her chair and tried to ignore the beginnings of a headache.

“Well,” Rolanda said carefully, “I was wondering if we’ve been physically de-aged, like our bodies have been changed, or if we’ve been given the actual bodies we had at whatever age we happen to be.”

Dumbledore sat forwards now, focused. “That is interesting,” he said. “Do we have any way to test this theory?”

McGonagall’s hand went automatically to her collarbone before she remembered herself and lowered it. Poppy was the only one who noticed.

There was a pause as everyone considered the Headmaster’s words.

“Something that happened to someone when they were younger?” Flitwick suggested in his squeaky voice. “If they got a scar when they were, say, forty, and now they don’t have it any more. If, of course, they have been physically de-aged to less than that.”

“Does anyone have a situation like that?” Dumbledore asked, looking around at them all. McGonagall noticed Snape glance down his left sleeve, but he looked away just as quickly, so she didn’t say anything.

There was a quiet murmur as everyone considered, but no one spoke out loud.

“No one?” Dumbledore asked, evidently disappointed.
“I do,” McGonagall said, her voice expressionless. Everyone turned to her. She took a deep breath as though steeling herself.

“When I was…nineteen, I think, I was attacked during one of the raids. I got a scar from that. And the other, I got when I was forty, during the first war.”

Dumbledore looked upset. “When was that?” he asked. “I don’t remember you getting attacked.” He was concerned because she’d been working here at the time.

“Neither do I,” Poppy said, almost angrily. She’d been the school matron then, too. “What about the other one? What raids?”

“My cousin, at the time, was dating a Slytherin,” McGonagall said at Dumbledore and Poppy’s unyielding stares. “His house was getting raided and she wanted to be there with him. She was sort of blinded, I suppose, and I didn’t want her to do anything stupid. I was quite fond of her, you see.”

“You didn’t want her to do anything stupid?” Poppy said incredulously. “Minerva, that is so incredibly ridic—“

“Than you, Poppy,” McGonagall snapped. She was silent until Rolanda said “Go on.”

“So I went with her and it turned out that the man was quite deeply affiliated with the Dark Arts, so the ministry tried to take the incriminating objects to arrest him. The man went berserk and started attacking everybody. He tried to grab Wendy—my cousin—but I pushed her away and got the knife instead.”

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table. Minerva McGonagall did not exaggerate stories.

“I went to St Mungo’s and they patched me up—it was a cursed knife of sorts—and in the middle of the night I snuck out. I wasn’t actually supposed to be out of my home and they wanted to keep me another day.”

No one spoke. How was it that they’d worked alongside her for years and never known?

“Where’s the scar?” Slughorn finally asked. Dumbledore was looking at McGonagall and it was clear he wasn’t going to be saying anything anytime soon.

McGonagall glanced at Slughorn and closed her eyes for a moment. She finally opened them but looked at no one.

“Here,” she said, pulling aside the neck of her emerald summer robes. Everyone leaned forwards slightly. Just above her collarbone was a knotted white scar that started just below where her neck met her right shoulder and ran above her collarbone until it ended in line with her right eye. It looked as though someone had tried to behead her but didn’t have time to do it properly. A shiver ran around the table.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, but only McGonagall noticed.

She let her robes go after a moment and leaned back in her chair.
“And the other one?” Rolanda asked, looking as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

McGonagall pulled back her left sleeve and displayed her porcelain forearm. There was nothing there.

Everyone stared at her arm as if expecting to see the scar materialize before their eyes. McGonagall even flipped it over to see if it was on the other side and, when it wasn’t there, pulling back the sleeve of her other arm to make sure she had gotten the right one. But there was no flaw carved into her porcelain skin.

She pulled down both sleeves, ignoring the male population of the room, all of whom had looked in her general direction slightly longer than necessary, in her opinion. She crossed both arms across her chest, looked at the floor, and said nothing. The silence lasted a long time.

Finally Dumbledore, who had the look of someone forcing themselves to concentrate, spoke.

“Well, there we go. We should test this theory again, but I am fairly certain that we have our answer.”

No one quite knew what to say to that. The tension in the room was reaching an almost unbearable level when McGonagall spoke.

“You should tell the minister, Albus, if he doesn’t already know.” Dumbledore nodded, and with that, without a word to anyone, McGonagall rose to her feet and swept from the room.

TBC

Voila! It has been posted, so let it be reviewed. This chapter is admittedly a tad short, but the next one will be longer, I promise. So review!!!

Next up: Shopping Trip for Min and the girls! Yes, they may be OoC, but who cares? If you do, too bad.

By the way, if I've offended anyone with my demand for reviews and such, sorry. I get a little crazy bout Minerva. Who doesn't?

[Rosemary Dumbledore McGonagall]

Jeez! Imagine the shock of knowing you have a scar somewhere, which you've had a long time and then it disappears! Brilliant! And of course I'd be there for you sweetie! Please carry on!

[Phantomgirl817]

Yay! that was awesome Please do continue on with your story it is awesome!!!

[harmonydumbledore]

Very intriguing please continue

[minervathefeline]

Hey there everyone, I have a gift for you all! Another chapter!

Chapter 3

McGonagall had seemed quiet and sombre when she left the staffroom, so Poppy and Rolanda were surprised to see her when she knocked on Poppy’s sitting room door a little over an hour later. The two of them had long since given up trying to figure out how Minerva always knew where to find them

“Minerva! Come in, come in,” Poppy said upon answering the door.

“Thank you, Poppy,” McGonagall said as she entered the room and sat opposite Rolanda. Poppy took her seat, and they both looked at her expectantly.

“Let’s go shopping,” McGonagall said, coming straight to the point. Her friends looked at her in surprise. She was the last one they expected to come up with this.

“I don’t know about either of you, but I need new robes if this de-aging is going to last for any length of time. Even if it doesn’t, it’s summer, right? We’ve had enough grief to last a lifetime. This is the time we’re supposed to be celebrating. A shopping trip would be enjoyable. Besides, we need to get out of the castle. Our presence isn’t strictly necessary right now.”

“I can’t argue with that logic,” Madam Hooch grinned. “When should we go?”

“Let’s go now,” Poppy said. Minerva and Rolanda smiled. They hadn’t been sure she would have wanted to come.

“We can shop for a bit, have lunch, then shop some more and be back in time for dinner,” Poppy continued.

“Sounds good to me,” Rolanda said happily, already slightly bouncing with excitement. They really did feel like twenty-some year-olds.

“I was going to ask Pomona,” Minerva said, “once I made sure you two were coming.”

Poppy and Rolanda nodded. “She looks good, doesn’t she?” Poppy said thoughtfully. “She’s thinner now, and she has that curly, light brown hair…”

“You look good too, Poppy,” Minerva said. Poppy and Rolanda laughed.

“This coming from the ultimate beauty queen herself!” Rolanda laughed. Minerva blushed.

“There’s our Minerva!” Rolanda cried gleefully. “Mina has returned!”

And so a bunch of seventy-year-old women raced each other to the door in order to go shopping for clothes designed for twenty-year-olds, all laughing and giggling like idiots.

It felt good.

***

“Min, I think you should try this on,” Rolanda said, holding up a set of neon orange robes. Poppy and Pomona giggled.

“No,” Minerva said without turning around as she pawed through a rack. “I think you would look better in these.” Without looking back, McGonagall tossed a bright pink robe over her shoulder at Rolanda. Poppy and Pomona laughed harder.

Rolanda shuddered. “I lost my appetite for pink the year Lockhart was here,” she said. “That was the worst Valentine’s Day of my life.”

Even Minerva McGonagall laughed at that.

It was some time later when they actually got to being serious about buying anything. They’d gone to Hogsmeade to shop around, and found an exquisite little robe shop that was empty except for the owner.

“How about these?” Poppy suggested, holding up a pair of dark blue robes with silver trim.

“For who?” Pomona asked, surveying them as the others pawed through other racks.

“For anyone? Minerva, maybe?” Poppy replied, shrugging. Minerva glanced at the robes Poppy was displaying.

“No, blue’s not really my colour,” she replied absently. Poppy sighed as she replaced the robes back on the rack.

“I’ve got an idea,” Rolanda said suddenly. “Why don’t we all pick robes for each other? Seriously, of course,” she added with a grin at McGonagall’s raised eyebrow.

“Sure,” Poppy said. “That’s a good idea, Ro. I can do…Minerva?”

“Sure,” Minerva replied. “I’ll do…whoever, I suppose. Pomona?”
“That sounds good,” Pomona said eagerly. “I’ll do Rolanda—”
“And I’ll do Poppy,” Rolanda finished. “Hurry!” she said excitedly.

So for the next twenty minutes the four of them scoured the shop, searching for robes that would suit the person they’d chosen. They did not talk, the better to concentrate on their task, but they all had idiotic grins on their faces. Except for Minerva. She smiled slightly at her friends’ happiness.

“Hurry, Min, come on, it’s not difficult,” moaned Rolanda. “We’ve all got ours! It’s not supposed to take half an hour!”

“I want them to be perfect,” Minerva said, comparing two sets of robes from behind a clothes rack.

Pomona Sprout looked slightly concerned at that. “It doesn’t really matter, Minerva. Come quickly before Rolanda runs away screaming.”

Minerva resisted the temptation to roll her eyes as she finally selected a set of robes and replaced the rejected pair back on the rack. “Shall we do one at a time, then?” she proposed.

“Sure,” Rolanda agreed eagerly. “I’ll go first!”

The others laughed as Rolanda enthusiastically grabbed the selected robes from Pomona and rushed to the change room.
When she came out a few minutes later, the others considered her thoughtfully.

“Not bad,” Minerva said, nodding. “I like the trim.”
The robes Pomona had selected for Rolanda were a long set with billowing sleeves. They were a dark gold and had a braided grey trim on the hem, sleeves, and front. The under robe was dark grey.

“They do look good, Ro,” Poppy agreed. “I think you should buy them.”

Rolanda looked at herself in the mirror. “I like them,” she decided, disappearing into the stall the change back.

“Me next,” Poppy said. Minerva and Pomona nodded.

“Here!” came Rolanda’s voice as a set of robes was launched over the door of the stall.

Minerva caught the robes before they hit the floor and handed them to Poppy, rolling her eyes. Poppy slid into another stall as Rolanda came out of hers.

“Well?” Pomona asked when Poppy had been inside for a few minutes. In answer, Madam Pomfrey opened the door.

Everyone considered her. The robes were definitely unique. The under robe was white, Poppy had fastened the over robe’s buttons all the way to the top, and it was cut in such a way that the under robe was visible and protruded six inches above the light blue over robe. It wasn’t often over robes had buttons, but this one did; small and white and only able to be done or undone with magic.

“Well?” Poppy asked as she surveyed herself in the mirror.
Everyone turned to Minerva, who rolled her eyes.

“Would you wear them often?” Minerva asked Poppy. “They have a unique sort of pattern to them… They could very easily look ridiculous, but I think you could make it work, Poppy.”

“Yes, I think I like them,” Poppy decided. She disappeared back into the stall and came out a few minutes later to add her robes to the pile on the counter.

“Minerva next,” Pomona said. Minerva threw her a look that was a little too knowing before taking the robes from Poppy and entering the stall.

As she pulled on the robes, Minerva reflected on her friends. She remembered, when she first started working here, Pomona at Hogwarts. She hadn’t taught her, as Pomona had been a seventh year girl who had dropped Transfiguration in her fifth year, but she remembered her as a loyal, hard-working girl who could be rather self-conscious. They’d become friends when Pomona had started working here when she was forty three.
Minerva had attended Hogwarts in 1937 with both Rolanda and Poppy. They’d all been in Gryffindor, but with very distinct personalities.

Rolanda’s passion had been Quidditch. She was daring and brave, always accepting outlandish ideas and achieving only average grades in school.

Poppy’s bravery was quieter. It ran slowly in her veins, carefully. She was the practical one, the one who shook her head at her friends’ foolishness, but took part in it just the same. She was a very strong student, realising that to become a Healer, she needed top marks. She’d been very close to her best friends: Rolanda and Minerva.

Here, Minerva cut herself off. She did not think about her school years. That was the reason she was rather anxious about the de-aging; if they were also mentally reduced to twenty year olds…well, she shuddered to think.

Straightening the robes, Minerva exited the stall and turned to face the mirror. There was a moment of silence.

“Gosh, Min, is there anything you don’t look good in?” Rolanda finally said, grinning. Poppy threw her a reproachful look.

“Let’s not forget who chose them, shall we?” she asked smugly, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes, yes, we know you’re a genius, Poppy, no need to rub it in,” Pomona replied, exchanging a grin with Rolanda.

Minerva ignored all of this, her only reaction to roll her eyes.
The robes were white, but with a light lavender tint to them that seemed, somehow, to bring out a violet hue in Minerva’s black hair. A thin, braided, light brown belt was fastened on the under robe at the top of her ribcage. The bottom of the robes were decorated with a delicate, pale-mauve-and-light-green floral pattern. The green brought out Minerva’s eyes and the white showed off her ice-pale skin, giving Minerva the overall appearance of a Greek goddess.

“If only you’d let your hair down,” Rolanda sighed. “Right then, Mona next.”

Minerva quickly changed and came back out. The look on her face had her friends shouting.

“Minerva, you’ve got to get them, honestly, you looked gorgeous in them!”

“Min, really, you can’t seriously be considering to not get them…”

“Enough,” ordered Poppy. “Minerva, what’s the problem? They look fantastic.”

“They’re not really anything I’ve worn before,” Minerva said slowly. “They’re not exactly my style…”

“Minerva, you now have the style of a twenty year old. Buy them or else,” Rolanda threatened. Sighing, Minerva folded them and placed them on the growing pile of robes, then turned to Pomona.

“You’ve stalled long enough,” she scolded, but there was a look in her eye that told Pomona that Minerva knew more than she was letting on.

Sighing, Pomona entered the stall and pulled the robes over head, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. She didn’t bother looking down at herself before quickly exiting the stall. Unconsciously holding her breath, she faced the others.
There was a moment of silence. Then Minerva said smugly, ‘Now you know why I took half an hour, my dear, impatient Rolanda.’ Rolanda pouted. ‘Well, how was I supposed to know that you were going to pick those robes? Where’d you even get them?’ she said defensively. Minerva rolled her eyes. ‘They were on a rack like all the others, Rolanda. And what is that supposed to mean? ‘Those’ robes?’

‘Shut up,’ Poppy ordered, ‘you’re confusing Pomona.’

And indeed, Pomona was quite confused. She did not understand her friends’ reactions. Usually, of course, her mind was sharp and focused, friendly enough, but always willing to hear a good piece of gossip about the staff. But today, a fog seemed to have settled over her, and she tilted her head slightly to the side like a puzzled dog.

Perhaps Poppy understood, for she ignored Minerva and Rolanda and told Pomona kindly, ‘Why don’t you look in the mirror, dear?’
Ah. The mirror. Yes, what an excellent idea. To face what she’d looked like forty-odd years ago and to be reminded of what she’d been like then. Fantastic.

She did, of course, end up facing the mirror, and what she saw made her eyes widen.

The robes were a soft, mossy, earthy colour that appealed to her outdoors-y nature and soft heart. They fitted her perfectly, slightly billowy but not baggy, suiting her figure perfectly. Of course, when in a bad mood (or a potentially tipsy one), she was liable to describe her figure as kin to a squash. But these robes were fantastic.

Pomona turned around and hugged Minerva, who, though usually not in approval of displays of affection, returned the embrace lightly. ‘Come now, they’re only robes,’ she teased. But a slight half-smile on Minerva’s lips reached her knowing eyes and Pomona felt the urge to cry with happiness. Instead, she turned around, bounced back in the stall, and changed back.
Wasn’t life great?

TBC...possibly

Well, there you are. I have given you all a nice long chapter. In return, I would appreciate some REVIEWS. Must I keep harping on this?
REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS
Thank you!!!!

[kelbel21]

OMG!!!! Please continue!!! What about MMAD? What will Albus think of the robes? I LOVE THIS STORY!
-Kelly

[Rosemary Dumbledore McGonagall]

Too bad you can't find pictures to show us! That would be cool though! Brilliant honey! BRAVO!

[minnie313]

so far soo good!!! ;D

[harmonydumbledore]

All the robes sounded Cute. Can't wait for more! I'm anxious about how we eventually get to those adorable trips in the other story.

[minervathefeline]

Alrighty, here you all are! This one's sort of longish, and ya...I'll just let you read it. We have a bit of fluff, some emotional moments, inter-staff banter... Enjoy!

Chapter 4


The four witches returned to the castle late that night, laden down with bags and ravenous. Pomona had several more and practically bounced along, chattering happily. Rolanda carried four or five, and grinned impishly as they made their way along. Poppy, who was walking beside Minerva, carried as many as Rolanda, with several new summer robes, as well as a set of thick winter ones. Minerva had just two bags, containing six sets of robes including the white set, a dark maroon set, and a deep purple set, ones which she vehemently refused to wear during the school year.

‘Come on, come on, hurry up, I’m starving!’ Rolanda complained as they made their way to the school gates. Minerva ignored her as she drew her wand and, when the little-known spell had been cast, the gates opened. The witches piled inside and began making their way up the castle.

‘Rolanda Hooch, if you moan one more time about how hungry you, Merlin help me I will rip out your vocal cords and snap your broom in half!’ Minerva finally threatened ten minutes later, turning her flashing, narrowed eyes on the Quidditch referee.

‘Are you always this dramatic with your students?’ Rolanda retorted. Minerva managed to ignore her as they finally climbed up the steps and entered the castle. The clock struck ten.

‘God, is it that late already?’ Poppy said, surprised. ‘Minerva, you don’t think Dumbledore will be angry with us, do you? We did say we’d be back for dinner.’ Minerva looked unconcerned.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll go up and explain after I put my bags away,’ Minerva replied. ‘I’ll see you all in the morning. ‘Night.’ And with this, Minerva swept away.

Once out of sight of her friends, Minerva’s indifferent expression slid off her face and she hurried as fast as she could to her chambers. Dumping the bags unceremoniously on the floor, she quickly made her up to Dumbledore’s office. She was almost there when she ran into Sir Nicolas.

‘Oh, Sir Nicolas. Have you see the headmaster tonight?’ she inquired of the ghost, breathing heavily as she hurried along, Nick gliding along beside her.

‘I have, Professor McGonagall,’ Nick replied formally. ‘He seemed preoccupied, however, so I did not stay to chat’

Minerva lips thinned, but she asked the ghost, ‘What time was this, about?’ hoping that Dumbledore’s preoccupation had nothing to do with her.

‘I believe this was at about 7pm, Professor. Just after dinner.’ Minerva’s heart sank. ‘Thank you, Nick,’ she replied. As the ghost glided away, she reached the stone gargoyle, and, giving it the password, rode the staircase to the top. She knocked on the door, which swung open. She stepped inside.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, papers laid out before him as he considered them intently. He raised his head when she entered and surveyed her through his half-moon spectacles. ‘Ah, Professor McGonagall. You’ve returned. I was beginning to wonder.’ His offhand tone did not match the piercing look that he gave her, and perhaps Minerva realized this, that no insincere explanation would do.

‘I’m sorry,’ she replied, sitting opposite him. Dumbledore closed his eyes a moment, then reopened them and gave her another long look.

‘I was very worried, Minerva,’ he said quietly. With that, McGonagall knew that he was not speaking to her as a colleague now, but as a friend sincerely worried for her. And she knew that she would make no petty excuses like a student, that she would face this and accept responsibility. Easier said than done, however.

‘Minerva,’ Dumbledore began, holding her gaze as he spoke. ‘This is the time when we should be celebrating, and it is well within our rights. Lord Voldemort has been defeated, as you know, and we are safe. I would expect nothing less but happiness from you after living in fear for so long. You have been an excellent right-hand man—if you will excuse the term—and as much as I would hate to lose you as a colleague, I would hate even more to lose your company. I do not know what the effects are to this…this de-aging, but I would very much appreciate it if you could perhaps keep yourself and the others close for a while until this gets sorted out.’

Professor McGonagall swallowed, but she refused to look away. How could she have underestimated the worry Albus had felt?

‘Albus,’ she said, not restraining the amount of emotion she usually did, ‘I am very sorry. I shall make no excuses, though I assure you it was not my intention to cause you concern. I hadn’t for a moment anticipated that I would make rash decisions, though I am surprised about this…effect. I shall do my utmost to make certain that myself and the others remain near until this is sorted out—we won’t leave Hogwarts.’ Minerva cleared her throat as she finally looked away and added, ‘You mean a lot to me as well, Albus. I apologize for worrying you.’
Dumbledore nodded and stood, walking around his desk to stand in front of her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, offering her his hand.
Professor McGonagall reached out and shook it. He held it for a moment longer and held her eyes. Then he dropped her hand and smiled, the trademark twinkle in his eyes.

‘Am I right in assuming you did not eat? Come, perhaps we can scavenge something from the kitchens.’

* * *

The staffroom was full of people, quite odd for a summer at Hogwarts. But Minerva had promised Albus two weeks ago that she and the others would stay at Hogwarts, and so they had. The ministry was investigating what people were now referring to as The Effect, trying to discover the person or people responsible. They were not alone in the search; every other wizarding ministry had been Effected (the term applied to people who were de-aged). However, the Hogwarts staff had rather tired of this discussion, and so had moved on to other topics.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, there is no exception, no matter how small, to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration!’ Minerva snapped at Poppy, with whom she had been arguing for the past twenty minutes. Horace Slughorn sighed and dropped into the nearest armchair in the staffroom, which had been more comfortably furnished for their stay at Hogwarts. Not having taken Transfiguration past fifth year, he could safely say he had no idea what they were talking about. Anyone who was brave enough to engage Minerva McGonagall in an argument concerning Transfiguration ought to have been in Gryffindor, he thought (perhaps with reason). It would almost have worked if Poppy hadn’t been in Ravenclaw.

‘I’m not saying there is an exception, but if you transfigure something into food, for example—’ Poppy argued obstinately.

‘You can’t transfigure something into food!’ Minerva replied instantly.

‘Not real food, but something edible, for example, which could work in theory!’ Poppy replied triumphantly.

‘This therefore is not an exception to Gamp’s Law, which states, simplified, that you can’t make something out of nothing! Out of nothing, not transfigured!’ Minerva said, overriding Poppy’s victory.

‘If you conjured—’ Poppy began, but Slughorn had had enough.

‘For the love of Merlin, please, stop!’ he cried. ‘Talk about something else, this is too much stress for a summer!’ Minerva rolled her eyes, but stopped talking. She dropped onto the sofa and picked up a copy of The Quibbler.

‘Not reading that trash, are you, Minerva?’ Snape said airily as he strode into the room. Minerva did not deign to reply, as just then Dumbledore walked in as well. He had a small amount of soot on robes, but aside from that, there was no indication of where he’d been. At least, there was apparently no indication.

‘Any news?’ Minerva asked without any real hope. Flitwick looked up.

‘Have you been at the ministry?’ he asked, surprised.

Dumbledore shook his head in answer to Minerva’s question before replying to Flitwick’s. ‘Yes, I have. I thought they might have made progress by now, but so far they’ve had no luck.’ He sighed. ‘I may have to go in and help,’ Dumbledore said, as though the very thought made him tired.

‘Hmm,’ Minerva said sarcastically, which made everyone look up. It was rare she was sarcastic with the Headmaster. ‘You may have to go in? As in, it is possible?’ She laughed derisively. ‘No, you’ll go help, and they’ll realize what’s been under their own noses the whole time.’ Her voice grew louder with each word. ‘You’ll come back exhausted, but then they’ll pester you more, for help, information. Kingsley will cope without you, but the other idiotic department heads will come tripping over themselves for your advice, and the whole time the rest of us will be sitting here, useless.’ She stood up. ‘I won’t have it.’ And with that, she stormed out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.

Everyone stared the door she had just left through, surprised. Rolanda’s voice broke the silence. ‘I had no idea she felt so strongly about it.’

Dumbledore’s expression said he may have an idea, but he certainly didn’t say what it was. He stood up. ‘I’ll go talk to her.’

* * *

‘Minerva?’ Dumbledore called quietly, peeing into the empty Transfiguration classroom. She stood with her back to him, facing the window, immobile as stone. Quietly closing the door behind him, Dumbledore walked to her side.

‘Minerva, what’s wrong?’ he asked her quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder. She said nothing for a time, her face pale in the moonlight streaming in through the window. Then she sighed.

‘I don’t like this,’ she said. ‘I don’t like not knowing what’s going on, I don’t like feeling helpless, and I don’t like feeling useless!’ Her eyes were wild for a moment, but they quickly dimmed. ‘It’s just like when you were dead,’ she said, and laughed bitterly. ‘It’s too much like…like…’

‘Too much like last year,’ Dumbledore finished quietly. With that, he pulled her into his arms. She was usually so reserved, so disapproving of displays of affection, but she allowed this.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just as when Alastor died, when Creevey was killed, when… when Harry Potter’s body was brought in. They’re dead, Albus. I was helpless then, and I’m helpless now. And when you go off to the ministry…’ she trailed off, then abruptly pulled away and moved across the room. Dumbledore didn’t move.

‘…you feel as though I’m never coming back,’ he finished for her. She said nothing.

It had to happen eventually, they both knew. One couldn’t fake one’s death for a year, then return and presume everything would return to normal. Dumbledore had talked to Harry, he’d talked to his staff, he’d talked to Hagrid and Remus, but he hadn’t talked to Minerva. She hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t been ready. Now, it seemed, she was.

And she didn’t want to hear his reasons, no; she’d heard those plenty of times. She wanted…she didn’t know what she wanted.

‘There’s more, isn’t there?’ Dumbledore asked her quietly. ‘It’s more than that. You don’t like this Effect, do you?’ Still she didn’t move.

‘No, I don’t. I lived through my youth once, isn’t that enough? Why do I have to do it again?’ This time, Dumbledore crossed the room, and, with a hand on her arm, pulled her around to face him.

‘Listen to me, Minerva. What happened when you were younger, happened a long time ago. However much you may look like you did then, you are not the same. You are not as you were before.’
‘How can you know?’ she asked, more desperately than he’d ever heard her. ‘How?’

‘You have something you didn’t then,’ he told her, holding her gaze.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, her Scottish brogue rolling out despite herself.

‘Experience,’ he said. She looked at him a moment, then nodded
slowly.

‘Must you always be so wise?’ she asked him.

‘I wish I could,’ he answered, and succeeded in bringing a slight smile to her face. They exited the classroom together.

TBC

Well, there you have it! The official MMADness is coming up next, I promise. I needed to get these stressed feelings of Min and Albus out of the way--they're so needy!

Le romance is approaching, ye be warned! REVIEWS, and I will throw in some extra mmadness for you all!

[Phantomgirl817]

Awesome updates  I can't wait to find out what happens next!  Keep it up it's awesome!

[Rosemary Dumbledore McGonagall]

Can't wait to find out wht happens next kitten! Bring forth the MMADness!

[harmonydumbledore]

Love maddness it's awesome!! Will it be lemony?

I'm with Min on the helpless feeling. Can't imagine how she felt all that year.

[mmadfabulous]

Please continue as soon as possible!

[minnie313]

please, update as soon as you can, this is great!!! ;D

[bestwishes4Maggie!]

PLEAE CONTINUE... MMAD LOVE SOON PLEASE!!!!!!!!!
~S

[Bola]

Aww. More, please!

[Rosemary Dumbledore McGonagall]

I've just reread this story and I still love it!