Sanctuary

Note: These characters belong to J.K. Rowling; I just borrow them. My deepest appreciation to the very talented Squibstress and MMADfan for all their inspiration, advice and patience. In this AU story, Professor Merrythought is, at the time being, the Charms instructor. The name of the song in this chapter is "An Páistín Fionn" and can be heard here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWeH6p7IdFc

Chapter Two: Sanctuary

As Minerva and Professor Dumbledore made their way back to Gryffindor Tower, several students attempted to stop the pair to ask about the dueling incident and Minerva's well-being. Noticing his esteemed student's discomfort at the sudden attention, Professor Dumbledore gracefully dismissed all questions and steered Minerva toward his office.

Once inside, Minerva sighed with relief, feeling sheltered from unwanted attention. Still clad in her muddy robes and wearing a damp blanket, she was hesitant to sit down, wanting to avoid dirtying up her teacher's furniture. Professor Dumbledore withdrew an oak wand from his cloak pocket and handed it to her.

"I believe this is yours." He smiled kindly as she took it and thanked him.

The office was dark and cold, and Professor Dumbledore waved a hand toward the large fireplace, igniting a roaring fire instantly. He then waved at several candelabra around the room, lighting each candle and illuminating the room in a warm glow.

He turned toward his slightly shivering student. "Miss McGonagall, I imagine you'd like to clean up?" he asked while walking toward her. Tapping her blanket with his wand, Albus emitted a silent Warming Charm. She nodded, clutching the blanket around her shoulders, finding it warmer.

"I would; however, I'm not too anxious to run into my classmates." She paused. "I know I'll have to talk to them eventually, but I'd prefer to avoid it tonight." As she spoke, Dumbledore looked up at an antique cuckoo clock on the wall, then back to her.

"Evening feast has been over for half an hour." He raised a finger into the air, signaling an idea. "You should find more privacy if you use the Prefects' bathroom, and I could make an announcement in the Gryffindor common room that you are well and request privacy." He looked to her questioningly, and she nodded her head in agreement. "You are more than welcome to return to Gryffindor Tower if you like, or you could take some time to yourself in my office. I was going to have dinner here since we missed our meal, and you are welcome to join me. I wanted to explain the Headmaster's decision anyway, but I don't wish to take you away from–"

She cut him off before he could finish, nearly jumping toward him in her nervous state.

"No, Professor, I would much prefer to stay here." She clarified, "I'd rather not return to the common room, actually." She looked across the room at him, suddenly feeling as if she might be intruding. "However, I don't want to intrude on your evening–" To this he raised a dismissive hand.

"You aren't intruding. Not at all. I'd planned an exciting evening of marking second-year essays. I daresay your company would make the experience more tolerable," he stated with mild sarcasm, grinning at her.

Thinking aloud, she continued. "I could work on my Charms and Potions projects, if that's all right with you." The relief she felt was almost tangible, and she was so thankful that he had offered her the chance to avoid the mob she knew she'd have to confront in the hallways and common room. She realized she would have to face the questions eventually, explain the event with Riddle, but she wasn't ready. Dumbledore nodded to her request.

"Of course, you can study, read or whatever you like." He paused, thinking. "What would you like for dinner? Anything in particular?" he asked before summoning a Hogwarts house-elf who appeared in the room instantly with an audible crack. Minerva shook her head.

"I'm not really hungry, Professor." She had some difficulty looking him in the eye. Her professor snorted softly and insisted she needed to eat something.

"You don't have any favorite foods? I'm sure the elves can whip up something quickly that would suit–" But she cut him off.

"Really, Professor, I've lost my appetite." She was still shivering and looking a bit on edge, but she could not help but admire the large bookshelf behind his desk. She imagined it held a variety of tomes she had never seen before, sparking a sudden curiosity. Dumbledore shook his head.

"You need to eat something. Perhaps ... I'll just request a few things ... will tea suffice, or would you prefer something else?" he asked as he started to write out a list for the house-elf who was waiting patiently.

"Tea is fine, sir. With milk and sugar, please," she answered.

Professor Dumbledore finished up his list, folded it and handed it to the elf, asking him to return as soon as he had their dinner organized. The house-elf Disapparated with a loud pop, and Dumbledore walked closer to Minerva, who remained standing, uncomfortably wet and muddy, by the door.

"I can cast an Invisibility Charm on you if you think that would enable you to avoid attention." To this, she nodded adamantly, and he added, "If I do this, I must have your word you'll return here immediately after you've finished bathing and gathering your books." He caught her gaze in his, a determined look on his face. "This isn't exactly permitted, therefore, I must have your word that you won't misspend this favor." He lowered his head so he could look at her over the tops of his half-moon spectacles, fixing her in a pointed stare.

She nodded obediently.

"No, sir, I won't abuse this opportunity. Thank you so much, Professor." She stammered a bit, extremely thankful that he'd offer her such a privilege and determined to make him understand just how much she valued it.

"I'll head to my room for clean clothes and my books, then go straight to the Prefects' bath and return straight to your office, if that is permissible?" She looked up at him, hopeful and warming due to the charm Dumbledore placed on her blanket.

He seemed satisfied enough and pulled his wand out of the loose sleeve of his gray robes and tapped her shoulder with it gently. She was soon completely invisible to herself, though Dumbledore seemed to be able to keep his gaze upon her eyes.

"Try and be quick. I'd rather the other professors not find out I enabled this. Remember, your books will need to be covered by your blanket or clothing to be concealed," he stated, opening the door for her, following her out, and heading to the Fat Lady's portrait.

The pair entered the Gryffindor common room, though Minerva was invisible, and several students stood up to greet their Head of House. Professor Dumbledore explained briefly that Minerva needed some privacy but was unharmed. Once several female students had run down the dormitory staircase, Minerva made her way up to her dorm room, quietly removed a set of clean clothing and her night slippers, and then shrank them to fit in the palm of her hand. She also shrank a book sack, which held most of her assignments and books, and put her shrunken clothing in it. She Scourgified her dirty blanket and clothes, picked up the tiny sack, wrapped herself in the huge blanket, and made her way out of the Gryffindor common room to the Prefects' bathroom.

Several students were whispering to each other about what they had heard of the duel. Dumbledore remained in the common room, requesting the students not take up the art of gossip and that they give their classmate the opportunity to explain when she was ready. He saw Minerva return down the staircase, and he kept the students focused on himself so that she could proceed undetected out through the portrait hole. As Professor Dumbledore turned to leave the active room, he was caught by a strapping sixth-year prefect.

"Professor? Can I talk to you ... ah ... outside?" Alastor Moody requested, and Dumbledore nodded to him, ushering him out the portrait hole. Minerva was already off down the hall before the Transfiguration professor and young man made their way into the hallway.

"I heard something ..." Alastor paused, remembering being reprimanded by Dumbledore more than a few times on his choice of words, "Well, I heard that Minerva was accosted by that Slytherin, Riddle," he stated, though it was more of a question. Alastor Moody stood a few inches shorter than his professor and had a slightly heavier build, well suited for his role as the Gryffindor Quidditch Keeper.

Professor Dumbledore inhaled deeply, choosing his words carefully so as to not set the young man off bolting to the hospital wing to pummel Tom Riddle.

"Miss McGonagall is upset because of events that occurred during a practice duel this evening. She is, as far as I know, uninjured. Mr. Riddle, whom she was dueling, is in the hospital wing with a broken leg, and there really isn't more I can say on this." Dumbledore noticed the younger man stiffen up, and anger flashed across his features. Before Moody could ask more questions, Albus added, "I am quite positive, once she is feeling more herself, she will explain the situation to her friends, and I want to make sure the option is hers to take." With this, Dumbledore raised a finger and pointed it in Alastor's face. "She needs some time, Mr. Moody. I ask that you give her that."

Young Moody didn't seem satisfied with this answer; however, he knew better than to push this professor with more questions and simply nodded in compliance. Albus thanked him for understanding, and Alastor took his leave. Dumbledore got the distinct impression that a fight was likely to break out soon, and that Riddle might suffer an additional beating, magical or not, though he chose not to press the Gryffindor Keeper on the matter.

Minerva made her way down the hallway to the Prefects' bathroom and came across Professor Slughorn speaking with Professor Merrythought, both of whom most likely thought they were speaking privately.

"Horace, if your student is responsible for a sexual assault, you must take that seriously," admonished the Charms instructor. Horace Slughorn looked extremely agitated and tried to make his way back to his office, but Merrythought persisted.

"Model student or not, that's not something that happens accidentally. I hope you realize the implications this could have for the rest of the students as well as for your House," she warned. Slughorn responded with several nods and "of courses" and picked up his pace down the corridor, most likely toward the Slytherin common room, Minerva guessed, leaving a fuming Professor Merrythought in his wake.

At last Minerva made it to the large, gold-inlaid door to the Prefects' bathroom and was extremely thankful to find she was completely alone. After turning on all the taps to the huge pool-sized tub, she let her blanket fall on the floor and stripped off her clothes, tossing them toward the laundry hamper. She carefully removed a brass locket, which was in the shape of an hourglass, from around her neck and pushed it into the shrunken sack, placing everything atop the blanket so she could easily find her belongings when she was finished. Knowing the bathroom door was securely locked behind her and that she would not be disturbed, she relaxed and dove into the bubbly, warm water.

The taps turned off on their own, and Minerva took her time swimming for a good ten minutes.

She was alarmed to notice Nearly Headless Nick swing in from the far wall and nod to her as he passed over the pool. Self-consciously she sank into the water, allowing the bubbles to cover her breasts, and wondered how a ghost could see her if she was, truly, invisible. But he was gone almost as fast as he appeared, and she put it out of her mind.

She knew that nothing would actually make her feel clean after Tom had touched, leered at and threatened her, but she understood it was a matter of taking it day by day and regaining confidence in herself. Finding a sanctuary was a primary step, and that was already provided to her by Professor Dumbledore, who probably had no idea just how much she appreciated his kindness. Then again, maybe this sort of thing had happened before, and Dumbledore had already dealt with similar situations. The idea made her feel sick, so she decided to silently recount Potions ingredients for various palliatives to take her mind off the trauma she had recently suffered.

The array of soaps in the Prefects' bath was astounding. She chose one in the shape of Celtic knot that smelled of lavender, spruce and cedar and began scrubbing every inch of her body with soap and a flannel. Afterward, she used a bottle of herbal hair soap that sat by the tub, one she had never noticed before. It added an incredible silkiness to her long, thick hair and smelled, oddly enough, like tea tree oil and lavender. She wondered if these toiletries were made specifically for Hogwarts as the containers were plain, offering no labeling, but just simple painted words detailing the contents.

She rose out of the luxurious bath, toweled off, un-shrank her clothing and dressed in woolen, full body undergarments and Transfigured her invisible blanket into a green tartan dressing gown that was so large it ended up dragging the ground behind her. She saw a thick comb by the bottle of hair soap, and since she had forgotten to bring her own, she used this and found her hair to be smoother than she ever remembered it. She decided she was going to keep this hair soap, since it must be Hogwarts made, and added the bottle to a pocket in her now-Transfigured gown. Taking the brass locket out of the small sack, she replaced this around her neck, tucking it under her woolen undershirt. Leaving her books shrunken and in the small sack, she tucked her wand into another pocket in her invisible night robe and passed by the mirrors, which offered no reflection. She had no choice but to assume her hair would at least be presentable, even if wet, and left the bathroom to head back to her Head of House's office.

She passed a few students and one professor in the hall, but no one noticed her. Upon reaching Dumbledore's office, she knocked softly on the heavy, wooden door. It opened instantly, and she saw Professor Dumbledore sitting behind his desk. His spectacled eyes were focused exactly on hers as he motioned her inside.

She entered quietly and shut the door. Albus stood and wandlessly uttered the incantation to make her visible again and then Transfigured a small chair in the middle of the room into a table. He then Levitated two small office chairs toward it. A tray on his desk held two plates piled with food, and he Levitated it to the table as well, along with a pot of tea and two mugs.

"I ordered us some shepherd's pie, glazed carrots, pumpernickel bread and cherry cobbler. I hope that suits?" he questioned, looking over at her, and she nodded. He laid his spectacles on his desk, picked up a few napkins, and took a seat at the table. She hesitated a moment, as this was completely new to her, dining with a professor alone in his office, but eventually sat down despite feeling self-conscious. Albus began cutting the bread into slices and made sure the butter dish was close to his student, in case she wanted any. He then poured the tea and gestured her to add milk and sugar to her taste while he added several spoons of sugar to his.

"Do you usually say grace, sir?" she asked quietly. "I'm sorry ... my father is a minister. I feel rather guilty if I don't offer thanks," she explained, surprising her professor, who had previously thought her father to be a mediwizard. He laid his spoon down and placed his hands in his lap.

"No, however, you are most welcome to do so, if you like. It's a practice I've regretfully fallen out of." And he bowed his head respectfully. She mimicked him and began.

"Heavenly Father, we thank You for this abundance before us. I am most thankful to Professor Dumbledore for this kindness he has paid me, likely more than he realizes. Amen." She kept her prayer short, not wanting to make her professor uncomfortable, as she did not know his religious views. As Minerva said grace, Albus was surprised by her words and felt uncommonly warm and slightly embarrassed by her honesty. He smiled softly to himself before opening his eyes.

She took her napkin, placing it in her lap, and looked at the huge meal on her plate, feeling a sudden obligation to eat something despite her lack of appetite. She began by sipping her tea.

"Chamomile?" she inquired, adding a bit more milk. Albus nodded, scooping up a spoonful of meat, peas and mashed potatoes.

"I thought, with the evening's distressful events, we could both use something a bit more relaxing than standard tea. If you prefer, I can Summon something more traditional." He looked across the table at her, and she shook her head.

"No, sir, this is perfect, actually. My gran often gave me a cup of this during thunderstorms," she blushed, "when I was scared. It's quite comforting."

This answer caused Albus to smile, and she reached across for a slice of bread and began buttering it. He took a deep draw from his tea mug and then set it back on the table, crossing his arms, and looked at her. Minerva had the impression he was about to deliver bad news.

"I requested that Riddle be expelled," he stated plainly. Minerva was somewhat shocked. She had assumed Professor Dumbledore was likely the only advocate requesting punishment for the Slytherin, but she didn't think he'd push that far. Albus continued, "But because Tom is ...," he paused, considering his words, "regarded so highly by many of his instructors and has charmed quite a few members of the board of governors, few faculty are willing to accept that he'd done something so heinous–" Albus wasn't finished with his explanation, but he saw a look of despair on his pupil's face and understood what she was thinking.

"Understand, Minerva, no one disbelieves you. Not one professor nor the Headmaster suspected you were lying–" Minerva cut him off before he could finish.

"If I'm not lying, then what the ... what in hell do they think happened? I tripped? A bear happened along and ripped off my clothes?" Her voice was growing louder as the anger rose in her chest. She quickly realized what she had said and felt ashamed, looking at the napkin in her lap. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean–" But it was Albus' turn to cut her off. He reached across the table, placing his hand atop one of hers.

"I know this doesn't make sense to you, with you being such a perfectly logical person. But please, let me explain?" He waited until she looked up at him and nodded. He slipped his hand under hers and held it, hoping to offer some small measure of comfort. "Talented students such as yourself, and yes, Tom, come along rarely in a teacher's lifetime. We don't like to believe the harsh realities of any of them. I'm sure you're familiar with the psychological state of denial?"

To his question, she reluctantly nodded and sighed heavily, feeling the weight of understanding upon her shoulders. She would have to continue to take meals in the Great Hall with Riddle, tolerate him at prefect meetings, participate in extracurricular events, pass in the hallways alongside the boy who assaulted her. The very idea made her sick to her stomach. Professor Dumbledore continued in his naturally gentle voice.

"As loath as I am to admit it, my bias toward you would be difficult to sway if someone came to me, accusing you of such actions." Though his words were meant to soothe, she couldn't meet his eyes and kept her gaze upon her plate. There was nothing gained by wishful thinking in this case. Professor Dumbledore had, in fact, defended her and believed her. There was some comfort in that. Regarding Riddle, she knew justice was lost and her energy would be better spent elsewhere. Feeling the anger slowly leaking out of her like sand, she reached for her mug and drank deeply, finding the tea relaxing. Albus rubbed his thumb pad across the knuckles of her left hand until she finally looked up at him. She braved another question.

"Has he received any sort of punishment?" Her question was feeble, and she knew it. Nothing, save for, perhaps, expulsion, would satisfy her, and she felt weak after asking. Her professor stiffened a bit and released her hand, looking somewhat defeated as he responded.

"I requested a limited curfew be placed upon Riddle, removal from the prefects, removal from the dueling club, extended detention, as well as a loss of two hundred points from Slytherin. The Headmaster, however, felt that was far too harsh and agreed to a moderate number of detentions and one hundred points taken from Slytherin. Riddle has retained all rights to his extracurricular activities, I'm sorry to say." Though he felt she deserved the truth, the words tasted metallic in his mouth, and he regretted having to say them.

"Detention with Slughorn, I imagine," she stated, remembering how her Potions professor had seemed so unconcerned when she had passed him and her Charms professor arguing in the hallway. Professor Dumbledore shook his head and gently pushed her heaping plate toward her.

"Professor Merrythought, actually, who, if this is any consolation, is quite concerned about you." He watched her cautiously for a moment and added, "I've also made it a priority to keep an eye on Riddle, as well as yourself." She looked up a bit defensively as he said this, feeling a flare of anger that her professor would consider her unable to defend herself, but then dismissed it. He was, after all, only being protective, and she could not deny that she wasn't entirely able to handle the event that had caused the conversation to take place in the first place. "I hope you don't take offense. I am, as Head of your House, responsible for your well-being."

She sighed and nodded, pushing her carrots around her plate with her fork. "Thank you, Professor." While her response would have sounded insincere to most ears, Dumbledore heard her true appreciation and smiled softly. He saw the shift in his student, saw the internal struggle begin draining out of her face, and he relaxed considerably, thankful that they had gotten through the discussion without incident. He hoped they might find something pleasant in the evening, and he was curious about her family.

"A minister ... obviously not Catholic," he stated, sampling the carrots. Minerva was actually thankful that he changed the subject, and she found the shepherd's pie looked appetizing after all. She wondered for a moment how he knew it was one of her favorite dishes.

"Presbyterian, Professor," she answered and filled her fork with a sampling of the main entrée. Dumbledore looked at her with great interest and she felt she could hear the question that must be circling in his head. "You needn't fear asking, Professor. Yes, my father is a Muggle. It's my mother's side, the MacGruders, who are magical," she explained matter-of-factly. "The McGonagalls are sheep farmers, mostly."

Dumbledore was intrigued.

"That's quite the paradox," he stated, thinking a moment. "Rarely do I hear of those in the church who openly accept our Wizarding world ... non-magical people I mean." Minerva grinned to herself as he stated this, and she further explained, between bites of creamy potatoes, peas, corn and ground lamb.

"I asked my father about that once. How, when nearly all of the Christian faith looked upon the realm of magic as devil's work, did he manage to fall in love with, let alone marry, Mum," she continued and saw that her professor was hanging on each of her words with extreme concentration. "He explained that it was difficult for him to accept in the beginning; however, he spent a great deal of time in prayer about it and decided, ultimately, that something as beautiful as Mum's talent couldn't possibly be anything but a gift from the Divine."

Until she had explained her father's ideas, Minerva couldn't remember her Transfiguration professor ever looking dumbfounded. But he certainly did at that moment. After several long nervous seconds, at least for her, he spoke.

"That's quite remarkable. And rare. Your father's wisdom is, indeed, enlightening." Taking another long draw from his mug, he returned to his meal.

His proclamation filled Minerva with a sense of pride, and she had to stare into her plate to hide her embarrassment. Though her professor was always gracious and polite when addressing his students, compliments of this nature from Albus Dumbledore were quite uncommon. Only then did she realize he had actually paid her two very large praises: the wisdom of her father and explaining that her talent was highly valued by instructors such as himself. She chose to take a large bite of pie so as to avoid the possibility of making a fool of herself by speaking, as she really had no idea what to say.

"It's quite curious that your father came to a similar conclusion as my Grandfather Dumbledore," he continued, and Minerva's head shot up.

"The Dumbledores were originally ..." But she couldn't finish her question as she considered how judgmental it would sound.

"Muggles ... yes. My father's parents were devout Catholics, and my Grandfather Dumbledore was actually non-magical. It was my father's mother, my Grandmother Dumbledore, who had magical blood," he added helpfully. "I had asked my grandfather a similar question, as did you to your father, how he overcame the prejudice of the church against witchcraft," he explained, taking a bite of carrots. Minerva was leaning forward, eager for him to continue.

"What did he say?" she asked quickly, focusing intently on her professor's mouth. Oddly, she found the mixed auburn and few silver-colored hairs of his mustache to be terribly fascinating.

"Very much the same as your father said to you: something as wonderful as the gift of magic simply couldn't be malicious. Oh sure, he believed it could be used for dark purposes, but no more so than could the average person use their talents malevolently." He cleared his throat. "An ideal I've grown to understand more and more as the years pass."

Minerva thought for a moment and blurted out without thinking, "Catholic ... I thought you sounded a bit Irish, but your biography explains you grew up in Godric's Hollow?" After, quite literally, thinking out loud, she felt she had been rude, prying into his personal life. Her professor chuckled lightly, wiping his beard with his napkin.

"You know, there are Catholics in other parts of the world besides Ireland," he teased. "But you are correct. You've a sharp ear." He winked at her, causing her to blush. "True, we were raised in England, mostly; however, I spent a great deal of time with my paternal grandparents in Kells, Ireland." He noticed Minerva reddening and couldn't help but further his teasing. "And now, you know my deepest, darkest secret ... I am a closet Irishman." He grinned widely.

They both burst out laughing, and Minerva had the distinct impression that Albus was enjoying this bit of teasing at her expense. She was thankful when he broke the tension, explaining further his Irish nature.

"Don't tell the Headmaster. We have a friendly pool at my brother's pub every year, betting on national Quidditch matches, and Armando, to this day, thinks I support him and his fanatical passion for the Falcons. When, in secret, I always put my Galleons on the Kestrels." He chuckled, describing his preference for the Irish team, the Kenmare Kestrels, over the English team, the Falmouth Falcons. Minerva grinned to herself and decided to tip the scales a tad back in her favor.

"Really, Professor?" She feigned surprise. "And here I thought all along that you favored noble Scotland's Pride of Portree! What with your obvious favor for the color purple." She grinned at him over her tea mug and saw, for the very first time, Albus Dumbledore gasp and blush, at a loss for words. He nearly choked on his peas and held up a hand in mock surrender.

"Touché, my dear," he laughed merrily at his defeat,"well played."

Minerva took on a very serious expression and raised herself as high as she could in her seat, holding her tea mug with both hands. She just couldn't resist, not when he set himself up so perfectly.

"Not to worry, Professor, your secrets are safe with me. I shall not repeat that you are, indeed, an Irishman who desperately wishes he were born a wee bit further north, in the royal Highlands." Albus shook his head and laughed, knowing he'd been bested.

"Small mercy for the rest of your classmates at Hogwarts that we have only a dueling club and not a debate club." He chuckled, freely complimenting his exceptionally witty student, knowing full well he'd get the satisfaction of yet another blush out of it.

Minerva wasn't expecting a retort in this fashion, and she colored significantly, pleasing her Transfiguration professor all the more. She covered her face with her hand to hide her wide grin and complete embarrassment, and Albus laughed openly, waving his hands back and forth as if calling for a time-out.

"All right ... all right, I'll stop," he sputtered, still laughing. "Twenty points to Gryffindor for Miss McGonagall besting her cheeky professor." He fished in a breast pocket of his robes and drew out a deep purple handkerchief to wipe tears from his eyes, which caused Minerva to point and exclaim.

"What did I say? Pride of Portree, right there!" She grinned, feeling extremely pleased with herself with this most unusual victory. They both laughed for several more moments before recovering themselves and focusing on the remainder of their dinners.

She found it quite strange that, only hours earlier, she thought she might have been on the verge of a mental breakdown. And now, for reasons she couldn't explain, but having completely to do with her Head of House, she was having one of the most enjoyable evenings she could remember in quite a while. The dichotomy was bizarre. Minerva sniffed at her tea suspiciously, wondering if some kind of potion was at work, when there was a sudden loud bang and a brilliant orange flash over Dumbledore's desk. Minerva inadvertently jumped backwards in her chair, spilling her tea in her lap as Fawkes appeared in a flash of fire and sat on the perch to the right of the large desk.

Albus remained completely unsurprised at this sudden interruption and, grinning, handed Minerva another napkin.

"No need for alarm. Fawkes has simply decided to return." He chuckled as Minerva dabbed at her robes with the napkin. "He can be rather dramatic at times. I can cast a Drying Charm ... or–" He stopped as Minerva took the initiative at his suggestion and uttered the incantation, drying her robes and muttering out of embarrassment. Albus reached to refill her mug, noticing the teapot was quite light. "I don't know about you, but I'm wanting for more," he stated and summoned the same house-elf from earlier, requesting another pot of tea.

Minerva looked past her professor at the large red and orange phoenix perched beside his desk, preening a wing.

"I don't know why I forgot about your phoenix, Professor, but I had no idea they moved about so freely." She added milk and a spoon of sugar to her mug, stirring gently. Albus nodded after refilling and preparing his own tea, taking a long drink.

"Well, to be honest, your first mistake is assuming that Fawkes is my phoenix," he stated while glancing at her, his bright eyes full of mirth. "Phoenixes belong to no one but themselves and come and go as they please. He's been gone for a fortnight, in fact, this time." He turned around, offering a respectful nod to Fawkes, who paused from preening as Albus wandlessly Summoned some type of bird cakes from his numerous shelves and waved them into a dish affixed to the perch.

"But, Professor, isn't Fawkes your familiar?" She was confused and sat studying the pair, the wizard and the bird, while sipping her tea, having already cleaned her plate of every morsel of the meal. Albus raised a hand as he turned back around.

'Ah ... a familiar. In the sense that a magic user purchases a wand, toad or an owl? No, a phoenix is not." He cleared his throat before continuing, draining the last of the tea from his mug as the house-elf Apparated back into the office with a loud crack and a fresh pot of chamomile tea. Albus thanked the elf, returning his attention to Minerva. To the surprise of both the humans in the room, Fawkes tilted his head up and opened his beak, letting forth a lingering trill, seemingly inspired by Albus' explanation of the glory of phoenixes.

Minerva blinked a few times. She had never heard a phoenix song and could only remember ever seeing Fawkes once, from a great distance as the bird returned, on wing, to the castle during her third year.

"Consider Fawkes my friend. I'm sure you've never thought that you owned your friends, have you?" From another's mouth, these words would have seemed like sarcasm, but from Professor Dumbledore, it was a simple explanation. Feeling quite relaxed, Minerva let her thoughts out in words

"That song ... was ... hauntingly beautiful." Her candor would have embarrassed her if Albus hadn't reacted as he did, simply nodding and pouring and preparing another mug of tea.

"This may sound strange, but ... Fawkes seems to understand you were distressed earlier this evening. Apparently, that is why he has returned." Albus looked up from his mug of tea, completely unaware that such a declaration would sound remarkable. "He returned because of you, I think." When Albus caught sight of Minerva's expression, he realized he had spoken too freely and tried to explain away the confusion or worry he thought he saw in his student's face.

"Phoenixes are intuitive, sensitive and incredibly empathetic creatures. Much like Thestrals and unicorns, who can sense emotions in other species. However, unlike the Thestral or unicorn, which do not actively try to aid others with feelings of despair or sorrow, but do so simply with their presence; phoenixes actually seek out others and attempt to brighten their moods. He does not speak to me, like you and I speak, but I can feel his emotions and he mine, a gift he has granted me that I have never felt I deserved ... but I am meandering a bit ... Fawkes sensed your despair from earlier this evening and simply wished to offer you a bit of encouragement," Albus continued, banishing their empty plates to the kitchens without much thought, and reached over to add more tea to Minerva's mug, which she was holding between her hands on the table. She sat transfixed, staring at her professor as if he had sprouted another head.

"Professor ... your ... I mean, Fawkes ... he's never even met me," she stammered, quite shocked at this strange and very complimentary declaration of a magical creature she'd always considered more a myth than reality. Dumbledore smiled softly, looking down in his mug and deciding his tea needed more sugar. She continued and asked, "How could he have known I was upset?"

"He knew of your despair through me. It mattered to me that you were upset, therefore, it mattered to him." He glanced at her and returned to focus on his tea. "It's a bit difficult to explain, if you've never had an empathetic link to a magical beast. I'm sure I must sound like I'm speaking Greek, but that's the best explanation I can offer." As Albus finished his discussion, Fawkes let out another soft trill, followed by a gentle warble, and Minerva felt a wave of kindness sweep over her, assuming this was the effect of Fawkes' song. The emotion was so intense, she actually worried she might burst into tears and blinked rapidly, willing herself to maintain composure. Albus smiled across the table at Minerva, watching the phoenix's magical effect on her, satisfied that his friend, his companion, could offer comfort where he felt he could not.

"Remarkable, isn't he?" he questioned gently, completely understanding how Fawkes' song had affected her. Minerva simply nodded, feeling relief and contentment. The fire was warm and glowing, spreading security throughout the room. The candelabra seemed to cloak the air with silky light. The room suddenly felt warmer, calmer and safer. Feeling strangely at ease, she leaned back and relaxed, closing her eyes, and concentrated on the bird's melody. Albus said nothing and they sat quietly, listening to Fawkes trill and coo.

Once Fawkes seemed content and quieted, Professor Dumbledore stood, replaced his chair against the wall and turned to the stacks of unmarked essays on his desk. He turned to look at Minerva out of the corner of his eye.

"If you'd like, I can Transfigure your chair into a plush couch. Far more comfortable I think, for prolonged studying?"

At his question, Minerva glanced at the wall that previously housed the chair and decided that a couch would, indeed, be far more suitable. She rose and took a step back, removing her wand from her dressing gown pocket.

"May I have a go, or would you prefer to Transfigure your own office furniture?" After all those compliments, she felt a bit like showing off and even briefly considered turning the chair into a gaudy, purple couch, but decided against it. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise, turning toward her.

"By all means!" He grinned, interested to see what she would do.

Minerva raised her wand and flicked the end toward the chair, elongating it first, next lining the wood with cloth, then added plush cushions, clawed feet, a well-padded, raised back and finally changed the colors to Gryffindor red and gold in a tartan pattern. Satisfied she could accomplish all this nonverbally, she then Levitated the couch back toward the wall, found it was a few inches too long to fit properly and shortened it slightly, so that it fit perfectly beside the end table.

Albus was quiet while she worked the Transfiguration, having difficulty refraining from offering unsolicited advice. He was quite pleased with her work and smiled with pride as she added the cushions and then laughed openly when she changed the colors to Gryffindor plaid.

"Your nonverbal skills are quite impressive. And the colors are superior! I almost expected you to goad me with more purple!" He laughed, walking toward the couch and taking a seat, testing the solidity of the Transfiguration.

"Not in Gryffindor Tower ... though, I admit, it was tempting." She smirked and held her wand at her side.

"In fact, I like this so much I'm going to make it permanent." He looked up at her and winked. "But a few pillows would help, I think."

He extended his wand, taking a few loose buttons out of his inside breast pocket and, pointing his wand to each, turned them into pillows of solid colors, matching the couch. He then uttered an incantation to force the pillows and the couch to assimilate their new forms permanently. "Much better than what I had before." He stood, walking back to his desk. "No idea why I didn't think to do that before now ..." He shrugged to himself and opened a music box that sat on the bookshelf behind the desk. "Will music disrupt your studies? Nothing loud, of course."

Minerva had already taken a seat on the couch, donned her reading glasses, let her slippers fall to the floor and tucked her feet under her seat. She adjusted the closest candelabra with her wand to offer a bit more light and had opened her Potions book.

"No, sir, not at all," she answered and dipped her quill in a small ink vial on the end table, quietly jotting down several potions recipes.

A soft Irish melody floated out over the room as Professor Dumbledore sat down in the large desk chair, donning his spectacles. He took a sheet of parchment off a large stack and began to read, but then looked up as if suddenly remembering something.

"I nearly forgot I wanted to offer you the chance to Floo-call your parents, if you wished to speak to them about today's incident. I can leave–" He said when she cut him off.

"No, sir!" she exclaimed, far too loudly and too quickly, startling him and causing him to stare. "I mean, no, thank you. I really prefer not to discuss it with them." She half rose off the couch before she realized she had and sat back down. Her professor looked at her with confusion.

"I can leave the room–" But again, he was cut off by her adamantly shaking her head. "You don't wish to inform them of what happened? Not at all?" He cocked his head, completely at a loss.

"Please, sir, I really don't wish to speak of this to them." Then her eyes grew wide, worry crossing her face. "Is the Headmaster going to tell them?" Albus could easily see her fear at the prospect, though he couldn't understand her reasoning.

"Headmaster Dippet left it up to me to inform your parents. I was going to write them a letter, at the very least," he explained. Minerva stood and approached the desk, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. A gust of wind blew up, rattling the window on the far wall of the office while rain began beating against it in sheets.

"Please, Professor ... don't," she begged, shaking her head.

Albus laid the sheet of parchment down and removed his glasses, studying her face.

"Miss McGonagall, you have nothing to be ashamed of–" He began but was again cut off with her hasty interruption.

"Professor?" she asked gently, hoping he wouldn't press her.

"Yes?"

"I don't expect you to understand this, but it is my wish that they not learn anything about this ... incident. If I have any say in this matter at all, I'd really prefer that no one discussed this with my family. May I request that one, small dignity?"

Albus could see that she had no intention of explaining her reasoning, but he simply couldn't deny her petition, not after the ordeal she'd been through. He knew this would nag his conscience; however, no more than the Headmaster allowing Riddle to remain at the school with far too many freedoms. Never knowing Minerva McGonagall to succumb to fear, avoid confrontation or suffer an injustice quietly, her request simply didn't make any sense to him. He sighed and lightly twirled his spectacles in his hand, pondering his words.

"Miss McGonagall, I am going to trust you have good reason for this request, as I have never known you to do anything foolhardy or unworthy, which is probably why I don't understand your desire in the first place. I do hope, dearly hope, that you aren't feeling guilty or ashamed about what happened, because you are not at fault." He leaned forward slightly. "You do know that, don't you? This is not your fault."

"Professor ... I understand that this may not make sense ... and I can honestly say, I do not feel guilty or at fault about what happened." She wished she could say she didn't feel ashamed, but that would be a lie, and she wouldn't lie to him. "I only ask that my family not learn of this, and I hope you can trust me with my reasons." She stood and tried to look confident, though she didn't feel it.

Albus sighed deeply, sinking back in his chair.

"I will respect your wishes. I will say nothing of this to your family and will ask the Headmaster to do the same." Though he could see that Minerva was extremely relieved with his response, he still felt wrong about it. Everything about it felt wrong, especially and perhaps mostly, because he could see that she felt shame and he hated that Riddle had put shame in her heart.

"Thank you. Thank you ... very much." Her relief was obvious, and she felt a pang of guilt for not explaining her reasons, but pushed the emotion out of her mind. Feeling more relaxed than she had earlier, perhaps due to Fawkes' song, or just the knowledge that she didn't have to return to her dorm just yet and face questions, she moved back to the Transfigured couch and resumed reading over her Potions project.

The small music box that sat along the bookshelf behind Professor Dumbledore began playing an old lullaby Minerva remembered from her childhood. A guitar and violin started out and were joined by a woman's alto voice; a gentle, swaying rhythm that soon filled the room. Minerva watched her Transfiguration professor as he softly sang along with the song, tapping his foot on the floor with the slow, graceful beat. He was reading some parchment intermittently, stopping on occasion to make a note in the margins. As his voice was baritone, his accompaniment blended in beautifully with the high notes of the strings and the mid-notes of the woman's voice.

Minerva lay back on the couch, drawing her legs up and stretching out, feeling the music wash over her like a warm blanket while outside, rain and wind beat against the tower. She allowed herself to relax and completely surrender to the melody, and saw Celtic knot work emerge spontaneously as ribbons in the air, twining and twisting around the room like some kind of graceful ballet. The ribbons were colored, silver, burgundy, gold and dark green, and wound around the room, bouncing off the walls on occasion and returning toward Dumbledore's desk to circle him or wrap around the furniture. One particular ribbon of gold knots twined into his hair and through his beard and seemed to melt into his robes.

At that moment, Minerva didn't ponder the strange effect of the music, or how she could visibly see the notes travel around the room, or even the events that transpired which caused her to be in her professor's office in the first place. She was utterly at peace and decided not to question it.

The lyrics were both familiar and comforting.

It tusa mo run, mo run, mo run

Is tusa mo run is mo ghra geal

You are my delight and my comfort all night,

And I'll wrap you up tight in my arms.

An Paistin Fionn is my heart's delight.

Her heart shines out through her two eyes so bright,

And the bloom of the apple in her cheeks so bright,

And her neck like the swan, on a March morn's light.

It tusa mo run, mo run, mo run

Is tusa mo run is mo ghra geal

You are my delight and my comfort all night,

And I'll wrap you up tight in my arms.

Oh, love of my heart, my fair Paistin,

Your lips are as red as the roses' sheen.

But mine have touched none other, I ween,

Than the glass that I drank to the help of my queen.

It tusa mo run, mo run, mo run

Is tusa mo run is mo ghra geal

You are my delight and my comfort all night,

And I'll wrap you up tight in my arms.

We'll riot the town, where spokes prevail

Between two barrels of sweet ground mill,

And my fontage theme upon my knee

Tis' I who will sing to her pleasantly.

It tusa mo run, mo run, mo run

Is tusa mo run is mo ghra geal

You are my delight and my comfort all night,

And I'll wrap you up tight in my arms.

Nine nights I have lain, in sorrow and pain

Beneath your window, love, under the rain,

Thinking of you, my love, once again,

That some whisper, or thought, might awaken you.

It tusa mo run, mo run, mo run

Is tusa mo run is mo ghra geal

You are my delight and my comfort all night,

And I'll wrap you up tight in my arms.

Kind friends and neighbors, they say I'd go

From all the prettiest girls that I know,

But from you, my dear, I'll never, oh no,

Till I lie in the coffin stretched cold and blue.

It tusa mo run, mo run, mo run

Is tusa mo run is mo ghra geal

You are my delight and my comfort all night,

And I'd wrap you up tight in my arms.

It tusa mo run, mo run, mo run

Is tusa mo run is mo ghra geal

You are my delight and my comfort all night,

And I'd wrap you up tight in my arms.

By the time Professor Dumbledore had finished his large stack of second-year essays, he had nearly forgotten Minerva was in the room, she had been so quiet. As he looked out over his desk, he saw why. Her head was turned inward toward the back of the couch as it rested heavy on a large gold pillow. She was sound asleep. Though he had added a single dose of anti-anxiety potion to the teapot, feeling they both could use the calming effects due to the stress of the evening, he never imagined the effect would be this strong. Not when he had drank at least half of it himself.

He quietly admonished himself for not considering the potion's combined effects along with the chamomile tea, or the possibility of Fawkes' serenade. Still, the effects were not harmful in any way, and she did seem to feel at peace, which was his whole objective: to provide her a peaceful evening away from the stress of the dueling incident.

Rising and stretching, he moved over to the couch to wake her, glancing at the clock on the wall. A quarter past one in the morning! He would have guessed it was only eleven o'clock at the latest.

Minerva's glasses rested on the tip of her nose, her hair was splayed out over the pillow, and her Potions book lay open across her lap, quill and parchment atop it. Her hand had fallen down off the couch and lay on the floor. Albus sighed and decided that she looked far too peaceful to wake and bent to move the parchment, quill and book, folding the sheets and placing them inside the book, then lay all of it next to her book sack on the floor. He carefully pulled her glasses off her face, then folded them and placed them on top of her books. Flicking his wand lightly, he conjured a thick, wool blanket, then changed the color to match the Gryffindor tartan colors of the couch and draped it over her. He tucked the blanket snug around her feet and placed her loose hand on her lap before draping the blanket over her. He allowed himself to watch her for a moment longer before turning, waving his hand, and quieting the fire to only a few glowing embers.

The storm continued to rage outside, and the window rattled periodically as Albus considered placing a Warming Charm on the room since the fire was nearly extinguished. He decided it would be far too cool, even with the wool blanket, for her to remain here overnight without a charm, and muttered the incantation while waving his wand.

Returning to his desk, he took a clean sheet of parchment and jotted down a quick note, folded and laid it under Minerva's folded spectacles. Albus whispered the name of the house-elf who had served them their dinner, summoning him, and requested that he wake Miss McGonagall no later than six in the morning and that he assist her in anything she might need. After the house-elf Disapparated, Albus waved his hand to dim the lights as low as he could, then took one last look at his sleeping sixth-year student. He muttered the password to the secret door that connected his office to his private rooms and stepped through, hoping Minerva would be comfortable enough remaining in the quiet office.