XXVIII: A Bright Morning

XXVIII: A Bright Morning

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

"Wilspy!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finishing up her shower with a quick nettle rinse for her hair, Minerva realised that she had a long time before breakfast and that it would not take her that long to prepare for Albus's arrival. She hoped that she wouldn't spend the time fretting and stewing. Not that she normally would do that, but Minerva had to admit that lately her behaviour had been unusual. Albus had been right the night before: she never should have allowed her concerns to mount the way they had. She should have been reasonable and talked with him, but as she had said, she was understanding each time that he was late, and she felt that bringing that up – or any of the other perceived slights – would make her appear petty. Not only that, but she would have had to have confront for herself, even though she would never mention it to Albus, that part of her injured feelings arose because of It. She had no expectations, and certainly no hopes, that anything would come of It – she had resigned herself to that fact from the time It had first appeared – but she had harboured the hope that Albus valued their friendship. Minerva saw now that he did indeed value their relationship, and, remembering the way he had held her the night before, he valued her, as well.

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

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

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

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

Minerva made quick work of the sitting room, glad that she was a Transfiguration mistress. Two of the armchairs became dining chairs. After a moment's thought, she added seat cushions and armrests. She didn't want Albus to become uncomfortable in a hard wooden chair and hurry through breakfast as a result. It was easy work to Transfigure an empty plant stand into a small round table, then to clear her work table and alter it slightly to serve as a buffet table. Minerva had left all of her linens packed and stored at her parents' house after she'd moved from London, so she Accio'd one of the fluffy bath towels and tried to Transfigure it into a tablecloth. In frustration, she realised it had some kind of Anti-Transfiguration Charm on it. She soon discovered that the extra clean bed linens were likewise charmed. She remembered clearly that Albus had once Transfigured a linen towel into a tablecloth, so this Anti-Transfiguration Charm must either be something new or else Albus's hadn't been charmed – or he was simply powerful enough to overcome it with ease. Minerva could, of course, break the Charm, but it hardly seemed worth it. Instead, she used a large cotton paisley scarf that she never wore, charming it a solid white linen with flowers and vines woven through it in a subtle pattern. A few handkerchiefs became matching napkins. That accomplished, Minerva decided that she was finished with the sitting room. She wished she had some flowers, as Albus had at dinner, but she didn't, and Transfigured flowers just didn't seem appropriate. This would have to do. It was only six o'clock.

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

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

Minerva thought that Albus might take note of what she wore, however, partly because the difference between her school attire and her "city clothes" was distinctive, but also because he did seem to appreciate nice robes, himself. As a student, she had often admired the way he looked, even before she had developed those other inconvenient feelings for him. She would have to make sure that she took some care with her choice of robes today. Before that, though, she looked critically in the mirror. She really hadn't been taking proper care of her skin lately. Minerva, as a general rule, didn't like make-up charms, although it was easy enough to cast them, and she would, if the occasion seemed to call for it. Perhaps just a bit of brow-shaping, then. She was blessed with the thick, dark McGonagall lashes, so she did nothing there. Looking at her face, she decided that a daily regimen of walking would do her skin some good, although it wouldn't help her today. Still, she didn't want to appear to be going to any special effort, so she only added one quick charm to slightly deepen the natural hue of her lips.

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

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

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

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

Minerva made herself another pot of tea, chamomile this time since they would be having a fresh pot of regular tea with their breakfast. Sitting at her window, she remarked that the fog was beginning to burn off already. As she sat and sipped her tea, Minerva thought about the events of the previous day. Albus must have known during lunch that he was going to set their appointment for late in the afternoon. He had engineered their meeting so that he could invite her to have dinner with him. She had felt miserable all through lunch, and hardly much better that afternoon, yet he had known all along that he was going to invite her for dinner and apologise then. There was no point in being angry with him about that, though. After all, it had been her own words that had caused her all of that anguish. And she was sure that he hadn't put off the meeting just in order that she could be miserable a while longer. Not to mention the fact that she herself had put off going to lunch because she hadn't wanted to sit next to him.

Thinking back on it, he had tried to reassure her when he came after her in the Great Hall and rescheduled their appointment. What had he said? Something about wishing they could meet sooner, but that five o'clock was more suitable, and then . . . "my dear Professor," he had called her. She was probably making too much of that phrase. It was only a variation on a phrase he often used, after all. He had probably said the same thing to many a Hogwarts teacher. Albus was like that. But hadn't he said something similar the previous night, as well? His toast . . . she had been trying so hard to get a word in and apologise to him, she hadn't paid it much mind, but hadn't he toasted "my dear Minerva" just before calling himself a barmy old codger? She sighed. This was absurd. It really didn't matter what Albus had called her. It was a turn of phrase only. It meant nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minerva had told herself many times that the accident might have happened regardless of whether Dumbledore had asked for her help with the wards. But Minerva knew that it was unlikely to have occurred if she hadn't agreed to the second project. She would not have worked so hard to become an Animagus; she would have been satisfied to have achieved the transformation at any time during her seventh year, rather than pushing to accomplish it before the end of her sixth year. She would not have been doing those particular exercises at that particular time; she might even have been better prepared for the exercises – Dumbledore was brilliant and careful, but he was not perfect. Over the last ten years or so, it had occurred to Minerva more than once that perhaps Dumbledore had allowed her to proceed with the exercises too quickly, or that he should not have allowed her to practice the advanced exercises on her own.

Hindsight is always perfect – or believes itself to be – and Minerva had little doubt that at the time of the accident, Albus had also questioned his own judgment as a teacher. After all, he had not pressed her to return to her training immediately afterward. He had also seemed ready to blame himself for it, although he only mentioned his entrance into the classroom as the immediately preceding cause and his assumption that he had been the "environmental trigger" and that he therefore must have caused her some unknown grief or harm. Dumbledore had never suggested that they might have been proceeding too quickly with her lessons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, no, Professor Minerva. Blampa can'ts do that. No, no flowers. No. Sadly. Blampa can'ts. No." Blampa shook her head and looked at the floor, but didn't seem as sad as she had the day before when Minerva had not-quite scolded her for popping in when she hadn't been called.

These house-elves were truly irritating. The lack of flowers must have something to do with what they were allowed to do at Hogwarts, or something they had been forbidden to do, since Blampa wasn't offering any excuses for her inability to produce a bouquet for the table.

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

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

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

"Miss Professor Minerva, Blampa likes table. Really. But Blampa thinks Blampa likes table –" This time Minerva cut off the house-elf's speech mid-whine.

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

"Blampa's sorry, Professor Minerva," she sniffled to her, "I, Blampa –" Blampa paused to gulp a little. "I, Blampa, thinks I likes little breakfast table at window where Professor Minerva sits." She cringed a bit, but when Minerva didn't yell at her, she continued, "I, Blampa, can move Professor Minerva's chair and table and move little breakfast table and chairs there instead. Pretty view for pretty Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster."

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

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

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

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