Chapter 2

That evening, Minerva spent longer on her toilette than she had before their wedding. Of course, she was nearly twenty years older now, and it took a little more skill and effort to create the desired effect.

She surveyed the results of her work in her bedroom mirror. The subtle makeup she almost never wore made her look more rested, and her hair was twisted into a slightly loose chignon rather than the usual tight bun, making her look younger than she normally cared to. She also wore the exquisite emerald earrings her father had given her on her wedding day but that she had only worn a handful of times. All in all, it would do nicely, she thought. She put on her old tartan dress cloak over the frock and set off toward the Great Hall.

When she got there, the ball was already in full swing, as she had planned. She was never late for anything, and she wanted to put Albus slightly on edge before she even arrived, so she had scheduled her arrival for precisely eight twenty. Students twisted and gyrated on the dance floor or milled around the refreshment tables, and staff members were standing about the room in groups strategically placed to ensure the students' exuberance didn't exceed the limits of propriety.

Players to the pitch, Minerva thought, as she walked to a corner of the hall, removed her tartan dress cloak and handed it to the house-elf that was waiting to take it. She felt the chill air on her bare shoulders and shivered imperceptibly. Her nipples hardened in response to the cold, and she realised that it showed through the thin silk of her gown. She felt self-conscious but plucked up her nerve, thinking, in for a Knut, in for a Sickle. Making a quick survey of the terrain, she crossed the room to where Horace Slughorn stood near the pastry table.

She was aware of the students nearest watching her in shock as she glided over to the Potions master.

"Good evening, Horace. All quiet on the Western Front?" she enquired.

"I beg your pardon?" Horace asked, turning from the table where he had been carefully selecting a few Pumpkin Pasties. When he saw Minerva, he dropped two of the confections, soiling the front of his voluminous, mustard-coloured dress-robes with whipped cream. The way his mouth hung open was most gratifying, if somewhat revolting.

"Minerva, how lovely you look," he stammered, once he had recovered his powers of speech. His eyes dropped to her breasts, then quickly darted away. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear your question," he said to cover his embarrassment. "Something about western something or other?"

"Never mind," she replied, not bothering to explain the reference to the classic Muggle novel. "You've got pastry on your robes," she said, taking a napkin from the table and brushing the white residue from his front. She was delighted to see his walrus-like face blush beet red. "If you'll excuse me, Horace," she said, "I must speak to Albus about something."

She had spied the Headmaster about twenty-five feet away. He was talking animatedly with Filius Flitwick. Neither man had seen her yet.

The game is afoot, she said to herself and began to make her way across the floor toward the two men.

Albus saw her when she was about ten feet away. She had indeed gotten a new frock for the ball. It was a pale, champagne-coloured silk that subtly set off her Celtic skin and green eyes. The neckline was not immodest: it draped in soft folds that hung from her collarbones to reveal the barest hint of the cleft between her breasts. Satin straps in a slightly darker, brownish shade held it on her otherwise bare shoulders. As she grew closer, he saw how the bias-cut silk didn't so much cling to her as gently kiss the curves of her breasts and hips. A few steps more, and he could see her nipples straining against the whisper-thin fabric, and he realised with a start that everyone else in the Great Hall could see them too. The thought sent electric shocks to his groin. His lungs forgot how to function for a moment.

He gave no sign that anything was amiss, however. When Minerva arrived at her destination, he merely finished what he was saying to Flitwick, then greeted his wife, straightening up to look over the head of his tiny colleague, who had his back to the newcomer.

"Ah, Minerva, we were wondering where you had got to. Filius was just telling me about the latest theory on the development of Freezing Charms. Apparently, a group in Albania has published research to suggest that their magical basis may spring from the same source as the Dementor Effect. But Filius thinks there are several holes in that hypothesis, isn't that right, Filius? . . . Filius?"

Flitwick had apparently been struck momentarily dumb when he turned and found himself staring directly at Minerva McGonagall's silk-draped thighs, then looked up to take in the rest of the witch who was towering over him.

"What was that, Albus, I . . . oh, yes, the Dementor Hypothesis," he said when he recovered his wits. "Very suspect, I'd say. There were a number of confounding factors that the paper failed to take into account. Sloppy work, in my estimation." He shifted over slightly, both to allow Minerva to stand next to the Headmaster and to put some space between himself and the woman's legs.

The three chatted amiably about this and that until Flitwick found his chance to escape. "Excuse me, Albus, Minerva . . . I think young Mr Black may be about to fortify the punch," he said, scurrying off to the drinks table where Sirius was standing and looking a bit too deliberately casual.

Minerva waited for Albus to say something about her appearance, but he just continued to natter on about Charms theory or whatever ridiculous subject he and Flitwick had been on about. She noticed that, while he occasionally glanced from the dance floor to her face, he never looked below her neck. After a few minutes of this, he said abruptly, "And now you'll need to excuse me, my dear. It's time for my appointed rounds," and walked off without a glance, leaving her to fume quietly and alone.

She was not alone for long, however. It was customary for each of the staff to dance one or two of the more staid numbers with one another and with the Head Boy or Girl, but tonight it seemed that every male staff member, with the exception of her husband and tiny Professor Flitwick, wanted to dance with her. She even endured a waltz with Hagrid...silently performing a precautionary Duro Charm on her toes as he took her by the waist...who enjoyed a direct view down the front of her gown from his vantage point on high. Hagrid tried not to look, or at least, not to be obvious about it, but subtlety was not one of his strong suits.

The students regarded this scene with annoying astonishment. In their youth and self-absorption, they had never considered that their teachers could be sexy, or...horror of horrors!...interested in sex. Professor McGonagall decided to consider it part of their essential education for the evening.

Among the students watching her most closely were James Potter and Sirius Black, and by extension, Peter Pettigrew, who did not see what the fuss was about. James and Sirius had a crude rivalry going over their...largely imaginary...conquests among the fair sex. Sirius had been riding James about his continuing failure to get Lily Evans to go out with him, and James was getting increasingly angry about his friend's insinuations about his lack of prowess. It irked him that, despite his status as a star Quidditch player and Head Boy, Sirius always seemed to be more popular and successful among the girls at Hogwarts. Sirius had an easy, bad-boy charm that James envied and tried to emulate, but when he did, it always seemed to come across as swaggering and puffery. Their eyes followed their professor as she danced, evidently hypnotised by the way her dress shimmered and rippled softly, reflecting the light with every sway of her hips.

When Hagrid had finally trodden his last on Professor McGonagall's toes, James saw his chance to shut his friend up. With a cocky grin, he said to Sirius, "I'm gonna go take advantage of one of the perks of being Head Boy. Watch and weep, dogbreath," and strutted out onto the dance floor.

Sirius watched as James spoke something to Professor McGonagall and made a quick bow. She took James' hand, and he put his arm around her waist and began to dance her, somewhat haltingly, around the floor. Sirius' amusement turned to disbelief when he saw James' hand creep down to the curve of McGonagall's lower back, then awe as he saw it inch further toward her arse. He smirked when he saw his professor's hand move from her student's shoulder to reach down and reattach James' errant palm firmly to her waist. When the dance was over, James walked, grinning and slightly pink about the cheeks, back to where Sirius was standing slack-jawed with amazement and, truth be told, a bit of envy.

"That was brilliant, Prongs!" Sirius exclaimed. "I can't believe you copped a feel from old McGonagall! Was she mad? I'm surprised she didn't hex you into next year."

"Nope. Matter of fact, she told me she never had better and could I meet her at the Astronomy Tower after the dance," said James.

"What did it feel like," Peter interjected breathlessly, not really interested, but anxious to be part of the boys' banter.

"Like she didn't have any knickers on," answered James with a sly smile.

"Merlin's balls, are you kidding?" asked Sirius.

"Nope," James said. "She's obviously got nothing on under the top of that dress, so I guess she decided to go au natural tonight."

The three boys stood in silent contemplation of this intriguing possibility for a few moments before Peter asked, "What's au natural?"

The only other person to witness the incident between Potter and Professor McGonagall was Severus Snape. He had come to the ball grudgingly after Professor Slughorn prodded him to "uphold the honour of the noble House of Slytherin." Severus stood alone in a corner trying to look aloof and unconcerned, only managing to appear as if he had just swallowed a vomit-flavoured Bertie's.

He had developed the habit of keeping his eye on Potter and Black. It was safer to know where they were in proximity to himself, he had found. His hatred for Potter had only increased since James had saved his life by sabotaging the little prank Black had tried to play on him that autumn. That git Potter was the last person Severus wanted to feel indebted to. And he was seething that Black had gotten off with a few detentions rather than the expulsion that would have been the fate of anyone else who had pulled such a potentially disastrous stunt.

He had seen Potter go up to dance with Professor McGonagall, and felt a tiny twinge of envy when the boy put his arm around her waist. That feeling turned to fury when he saw his nemesis actually put his hand fleetingly on the professor's left buttock. The fact that she didn't hex him, or even stop dancing with him, just showed the enormous favouritism Potter always got, Severus thought bitterly. His fury only grew when he realised he was the tiniest bit excited. There was no denying that Professor McGonagall looked stunning, and very, very different from the stern Transfiguration teacher everyone was accustomed to seeing. Severus realised with the self-loathing that only an unhappy seventeen-year-old can muster that he had been watching as her breasts moved hypnotically under the silk of her gown. He was no better than Potter, he thought with disgust. He loved Lily Evans with all his heart and soul, and here he was ogling another woman's body...and not just any other woman, either. His professor! Who had been one of the few people at Hogwarts to treat him with kindness and respect.

Severus looked over at Black as James swaggered back to join his cabal. He could stand it no more when he heard the three louts laughing uproariously, at some crude joke at Professor McGonagall's expense, no doubt. Severus stalked out of the Great Hall to find solace with his secret cache of Dark-Magic books.