LXIII: Tasseomancy

LXIII: Tasseomancy

Determined to remain useful to Albus, Minerva went to the window and checked the owl box. There were a few more letters, including one from Professor James. Minerva opened it and read it quickly. He would be arriving late that night, probably after midnight. Before she met Professor Flitwick, she would speak with Hagrid about being available to open the gates. During the summer, the gates were shut and locked tight at midnight. Those still in residence were given a password to unlock them, but James had left early enough that he likely didn't know it. Hagrid would have to open it with one of the large, Charmed keys he carried on the heavy ring at his waist. They were normally Ogg's responsibility, but Ogg had not yet returned from holiday. She hoped he had received his owl.

Minerva sat at Albus's desk and organized his post again. After considering it a moment, she began to go through his Hogwarts correspondence, sorting it into letters she thought needed his direct attention and those that could be handled by Gertrude – or someone else. Perhaps if Gertrude left after the meeting the next day, she should ask Albus if she could take care of it for him. Most of it was quite routine. She could at least draft replies for his approval. That would save him some time.

She began to write a reply to one of the letters when she felt a strange tingle. She looked up and saw nothing out-of-the-ordinary, so returned to her writing. As she was finishing up the paragraph, she heard a knock at the door, which then opened, and Gertrude stepped in.

"Good evening, Minerva." Gertrude nodded at her, looking as though it were perfectly normal to enter the Headmaster's office to find the Transfiguration mistress sitting behind his desk.

Minerva stood hastily, pushing her letter aside. "I was just . . . sorting through Professor Dumbledore's letters. Trying to help."

Gertrude quirked a half-smile. "I had no thought that you were doing anything other than being helpful, Minerva. I'm glad. I am sure Albus will appreciate it, as well." She looked around. "Where is Albus? Upstairs?"

Minerva fought the urge to stand at the bottom of the stair and bar the way to the other witch.

"Yes. He seemed tired. He is resting. I said I would fetch him when Professor Slughorn arrives. He should be here already." Minerva frowned at the older teacher's unpunctuality.

"Good. I am glad you managed that." Gertrude sat down in one of the armchairs. "Why don't you and I talk while we wait?"

Minerva didn't particularly feel like talking with Gertrude at that moment, and an invitation to talk always seemed ominous to her, at least coming from someone like Gertrude – though precisely what she meant by "someone like Gertrude," Minerva couldn't have said. Nonetheless, she stepped around the desk and joined the older witch.

"How is Professor Pretnick?"

"Depressed. I decided to Apparate to St. Mungo's and not just make a Floo-Call. I am glad I did. The man is convinced his life is over and it would have been preferable if he had been killed."

Minerva hardly knew what to say to that, particularly given her own thoughts on the matter earlier in the day. "I suppose that's understandable."

"The Healers say it is typical. If the new werewolf can make it through the first few cycles, he generally resigns himself to his fate, but until then, despair is common. It is especially hard on Robert since, as a Muggle-born, he has no wizarding family. He feels he has nowhere to go when St. Mungo's releases him."

"Will that be soon, do you think?" Minerva didn't know whether it would be better or worse for Pretnick to return to the castle until he made other arrangements, if he weren't going to be on staff anymore.

"It will be at least a week, possibly more. His wounds were dreadful, even if they weren't lycanthropic. It will take him a while to heal."

"I realise that you and the Headmaster have been to see him, but is he allowed visitors? Ordinary ones? I thought I might try to see him."

"I believe so. He says he doesn't want visitors, but he hasn't refused us entry once we arrived. I think he would be pleased to see a friendly face, Minerva, and someone whom he didn't believe was visiting him out of a sense of professional obligation, which is how he described our visit."

"That doesn't sound at all like Pretnick," Minerva said, concerned. "He's not particularly extraverted, but he seems generally friendly and cheerful."

"He has been through a traumatic experience, one that hasn't ended – one that won't ever end, really." Gertrude looked out the window at the gradually darkening sky. "Where is that man? It must be past eight-thirty already," she said crossly.

"I tried to emphasise the importance of getting here as early possible," Minerva answered, knowing that Gertrude was referring to the Potions teacher.

"Not your fault. Just the way he is."

At her words, there came a rapping on the door. The two witches stood, and Gertrude opened the door.

"Speak of the devil, they say, Sluggy. Where'd you come from, anyway, that you couldn't be here on time? Well, get in here!"

Minerva almost chuckled out loud listening to Gertrude scold Slughorn.

Gertrude turned to Minerva. "Minerva, if Albus is still available to see Professor Slughorn, let him know he has arrived."

Minerva nodded, realising that Gertrude was speaking for the Potions master's benefit, not hers or Dumbledore's. "I will see."

She started up the stairs and heard Slughorn give a snort when she safely made it past the sixth step. "Now why won't he do that for me?"

Minerva heard Gertrude answer Slughorn. "Because not only are you not a lady, Horace, you are rarely even a gentleman!" The witch's tone was light, however, and Slughorn laughed.

"A better gentleman than me you'll not easily find!"

As she opened the door to Albus's sitting room, Minerva could hear Gertrude answer the Slytherin wizard, but couldn't make out her words.

In the dimly lit room, she could see Albus lying on the settee, long legs stretched out, feet dangling off the edge. Minerva approached quietly so as not to startle him.

"Albus! Albus!" Minerva placed a soft hand on his cheek and stroked his hair. "Albus, it's Minerva. Time to wake up, dearest."

Albus's eyes opened and he blinked. "From one lovely dream to another," he murmured sleepily.

Minerva smiled, removing her hand, and answered, "No, no dream. I hate to wake you, but Professor Slughorn has finally arrived. Did you have a nice nap?"

Albus stretched slightly and sat up. "Yes. I think I fell quite deeply asleep, in fact." He yawned. "I need to use the loo. Could you ask him to wait? Oh, is Gertrude there?"

"Yes, she is. She visited Pretnick again. She'll tell you about it herself, I'm sure. I will have them both wait. You take your time, Albus. Slughorn certainly took his."

Back in the Headmaster's office, Minerva told the others that Albus would be joining them shortly. When Slughorn said he was parched, hinting broadly that he should be offered a drink, Minerva and Gertrude looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Minerva smirked.

"Wilspy!" Minerva called.

"Yes, Professor Minerva, ma'am," said the little house-elf when she popped in.

"We would all like some tea, please. One pot of regular, one pot of chamomile would be nice, I believe, don't you Gertrude?" Minerva asked, turning to the older witch.

"It sounds perfect to me, Minerva."

"Very good, Professors!"

Wilspy Apparated away just as Slughorn was saying, "Tea? I never said anything about tea. A spot of firewhisky, perhaps, or some elf-made wine – "

"Either – or both – of which you may have in your rooms after our meeting, Horace," Gertrude said with a slight smile.

Slughorn pouted slightly, but settled down in his chair to wait for the tea and for Albus.

Ten minutes later, Slughorn sat, hands folded across his stomach, his eyes wide, as he listened to Albus describe the attack on Professor Pretnick. Albus emphasised the Defence teacher's heroism in saving the woman and her children, for the first time naming the family he had rescued.

"Higgs?" Slughorn asked. "You mean the boy was young Bertie?"

Minerva had heard of Bertrand Higgs, of course, as he was a Beater on the Slytherin House team, but she hadn't taught him, as he had been a sixth-year and in Albus's Transfiguration class.

"Yes, one of the members of your House, Horace. The boy was quite brave, himself. He could have fled, but he stood firm and attempted to defend his mother and younger sisters. He'd placed himself between the werewolf and his family. The werewolf was leaping on him just as Robert got off the first spell, knocking her down and drawing her attention to him. Bertie was going to stay, but Robert shouted at him to pick up his youngest sister, only four, and bring her to safety. His mother is in late pregnancy and his other sister only eight. The boy did as he was told, but then he ran back to help Robert, arriving just in time to see the werewolf sink her teeth into Robert's leg. It was only when the miserable creature turned to attack the boy that Robert cast a killing hex, slicing open the werewolf's throat before she could leap on Bertie and either infect him or kill him."

"Is he all right, then? Bertie, I mean?" Slughorn asked agitatedly.

"Yes, yes, the boy is fine, as is his family," Albus answered.

"And Robert? Is he . . . did he survive?"

"He survived, yes," Albus said patiently.

"Poor Robert. Poor fellow." Slughorn shook his head. "So that is why you called us here? To tell us of poor Robert's fate?" At Albus's nod, he asked, "But why tell me now?"

"You mentioned to me sometime ago that Damocles Belby was doing some experimentation, trying to find a cure or a treatment for lycanthropy. Do you know of his progress?"

"Yes, that was going to be his special project for his Potions Mastery, but he ended doing something else rather different. He is still working on it, of course. Become something of a bugbear for the fellow, but I don't believe he's come up with an effective treatment yet. A few of his early subjects died, which is why he didn't pursue it for his Mastery – doesn't look too good to have one's subjects die on you, don't you know," he said jovially, looking around at the others. At the expressions on their faces, he added hastily, "Willing volunteers, they were. They were aware of the risks. And werewolves have a shorter lifespan, in any event. Er, hum, yes, but I was saying, hmm, yes. Last I heard, he had come up with a potion that is effective at putting the werewolf into a deep sleep during the transition with no ill effect on the subject – unlike the Draught of the Living Death, which, as you no doubt are aware, was tried several decades ago and kills the werewolf in midtransition. Slows down the bodily functions too much, and the transition is too powerful and ends up killing the subject."

Minerva shivered. She didn't like the way that Slughorn described the poor souls as "subjects," although that was what they were, she supposed. And the cavalier way in which he mentioned the deaths among them . . . cold. Typically Slytherin, she thought. But Bertie, of course, was Slytherin, and he had showed some pluck, especially coming back to help Robert. And Gertrude had looked as disturbed by Slughorn's dismissive mention of the deaths as she herself had felt. Perhaps there were a few decent ones, she thought grudgingly.

"Could you contact him, posthaste, Horace, and ask him for an update on his research? Don't tell him more than you believe absolutely necessary, however. Although this will likely be noticed in the newspapers before the next full moon, I would like Robert to have as much time undisturbed as possible."

"Of course, Albus. I will do so immediately. He may have something that will make the affliction easier for Robert to bear."

"If he does, we will acquire it for him. I'd like it best if you were to brew it for Robert, Horace, but if Belby will not part with the formula, then we will put him on commission. No experimental potions, however. Only ones with which he has had some success and knows are not dangerous to the patient."

"Right, right you are, Albus." He fiddled with the gold watch chain that spread across his stomach. "I suppose I should go now, write that letter."

"Thank you, Horace – and may I have a copy of the letter for my records, please?" Albus said with a genial smile.

"Naturally. I'll give it to you tomorrow at breakfast, shall I?" Horace rose, as did Minerva.

"I had better go now, as well, Professor. I need to speak with Hagrid and then stop at the gates for Professor Flitwick," Minerva said, addressing Albus.

Albus smiled at her. "Very good, my dear. Thank you for taking care of Filius for me."

"Filius Flitwick? The duellist?"

"Yes, as you would know if you hadn't fallen asleep during the last meeting of the Heads of House," Gertrude said icily, "Professor Flitwick will be teaching Charms in the autumn, replacing Professor Dustern."

"Oh, yes, yes, I remember now! Nice little chap," Slughorn blustered. He turned to Minerva. "Come along, dear, walk an old wizard downstairs."

Minerva disliked the Potions master's ingratiating smile, but nodded politely, then turned to the other two. "Good night, Professor Gamp, Professor Dumbledore."

When Slughorn motioned for her to proceed him down the stairs, she demurred, saying very softly, "Age before beauty, Professor."

The older teacher blushed, but stepped onto the moving stair. Minerva just didn't like the thought of him standing behind her, breathing on her neck, possibly bumping her "accidentally" from behind. He had never actually tried anything with her, but ever since Minerva had returned to teach, she hadn't liked the way he looked at her, particularly on those few occasions when she wore something slightly more revealing than her typical school robes. She doubted he'd actually do anything, but being "appreciated" by someone as unctuous as Slughorn was unpleasant enough, even if he never actually did or said anything overtly.

He had behaved the gentleman thus far, however, and Minerva felt slightly bad at having made her remark, so as they rode the stairs all the way down to the second floor, she asked pleasantly, "Have you been having a good holiday, Professor?"

"Very nice, indeed. Visiting my niece at the moment. She is to be married in two days time. I'm giving her away. I'm trying to help her through the pre-wedding nerves all brides seem to get, don't you know," he said, turning his head and smiling at Minerva.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to have him go ahead of her after all, Minerva thought, as their relative positions put him at eye-level with her breasts. However, he was looking up at her face, so Minerva just smiled back and said, "So I've heard. What of her mother and father?"

"Father killed in the war about a dozen years ago. My sister, her mother, is poorly, and so I have taken on the role of father and mother for the dear girl."

"I am sure she is grateful, Professor."

His pale brown eyes met hers. "I do hope she is. She wasn't keen on my leaving tonight, anyway. You know, Minerva, you may call me 'Horace' when there are no students about. We are colleagues, after all." He flashed his straight, white teeth at her again.

"Of course, thank you . . . Horace," Minerva said, hoping this was not a prelude to an invitation to some other intimacies.

As they reached the bottom of the long stair and the door opened in front of them, Slughorn said, "So, Minerva, do you have time for a drink before your errands? I have a rather lovely Bordeaux I've been considering uncorking. I am sure we could get the house-elves to bring us some nice aged cheeses to go with it."

"Thank you for the invitation, but I must be about my duties," Minerva said, as they began walking down the stairs to the ground floor. "And I wouldn't want to distract you from yours, either, Horace. I know how much you want to write that letter to Belby tonight."

"Of course, of course." He smiled toothily. "Perhaps some other time. You should come to my next soiree."

"Perhaps. Good night, Horace."

Minerva turned toward the main doors and tried not to hurry as she crossed the entrance hall. She heard the Potions master walking toward the stairs leading to the dungeons, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn't know what it was about the man, but she didn't like him. Perhaps it was just her prejudice against Slytherins, but she didn't think so.

Minerva strolled out to Hagrid's cabin, enjoying the night air. It was a relief to be out of the castle. She felt that the past few months, but particularly the past several days, had been just an exercise of moving from one stress to another. As much as she wanted to spend time with Albus, she was also looking forward to taking a couple of weeks to spend with her family. She wanted to visit Melina, as well. She was talking about getting her own place, moving out of the flat over the apothecary, and she had asked her aunt if she would like to help her look for something that would allow her to have Brennan and his Muggle friends over. It would be nice to do some normal, family things. It might also help her regain some control over her emotions toward Albus if she were to spend some time away. But not at the moment. He needed her right now.

Minerva smiled, thinking of how adorable Albus had looked asleep on his couch. Her smile widened as she remembered his first words on waking, "from one lovely dream to another." He probably hadn't even realized what he was saying, but it warmed her heart, nonetheless. She wished that she could awaken to see his face. That would, indeed, be a lovely dream. But only ever a dream . . . .

Reaching Hagrid's little hut, she knocked on his door. When he didn't respond, she walked around to the back of cabin where his pumpkin and marrow gardens were. She found him there, sitting on a bench in the bright moonlight, leaning against the wall of the cabin, Brutus's large head resting across one of his feet. He was drinking something from a brown bottle. Minerva hoped he wasn't in his cups, but was glad to see that he was bathed and dressed in clean clothes.

"Hello, there, Hagrid."

Hagrid turned his head to look at her and seemed to perk up a bit, sitting up straighter.

"'Lo, M'nerva! Brutus an' me are jest enjoyin' the evenin'. Join us? Have a butterbeer?"

Just butterbeer. Well, that was all right. Someone of Hagrid's size could probably drink a couple gallons of the stuff without being affected at all.

"Yes, thanks, Hagrid, that would be nice." She sat next to him on the rough-hewn bench. It was certainly preferable to be drinking butterbeer with Hagrid than drinking a vintage wine with Slughorn. "I just wanted to let you know that I'll be meeting Professor Flitwick at the gates at eleven o'clock, so you needn't worry about him. However, Professor James will probably be returning after midnight, and I'm concerned that he might not have the password to unlock the gate. Could you keep an eye out for him and let him in?"

"Of course, I will. Glad to," he said, handing her a butterbeer.

There was a large, Charmed bell that hung by the gates; visitors could pull the bell rope and notify the groundskeeper of their presence, but if Hagrid was aware that James was arriving, he could be close at hand and the Muggle Studies teacher wouldn't have to wait outside the gates very long. Minerva remembered how she had waited in the snow for twenty minutes before finally ringing the bell, summoning Hagrid to open the gates to her. Albus had forgotten she was there. But from what she'd seen on his lists, he'd become aware of his sudden habit of being late almost every time he was to meet her, so it wouldn't do to think about it again. Except it was odd, since when she'd been living in London, he'd almost never been late when they met for tea or lunch, and even then, never by more than five or ten minutes, and he would never have left her standing in the snow.

Minerva sighed as she accepted the cold butterbeer from Hagrid.

"Yeh all righ', there, M'nerva?"

"Just a bit tired, Hagrid." She took a sip of the cold drink and rested her head against the wall behind her. It was pleasant sitting here, listening to the night sounds drifting from the forest. "How have you been, Hagrid?"

"Same," he answered laconically.

"You've seemed a little less . . . energetic than usual."

"I'm fine. Jes' fine." He took a swig from his bottle.

Minerva closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh, cool air. She would press Hagrid about his troubles later. Right now, just sitting here drinking butterbeer was relaxing, and Hagrid seemed happy to have her company.

Eventually, Minerva pulled her small watch from her pocket and opened it. Ten minutes before eleven. Minerva didn't know how long it would take Flitwick to get to the gates once he'd arrived in Hogsmeade. If he Apparated, he could be there just a minute or two past eleven.

"I have to go down and meet Professor Flitwick now, Hagrid. Thank you for the butterbeer. It was nice to just sit for a bit," she said with a smile.

Hagrid looked at her with a warm smile on his face as he reached out to take her empty bottle. "Glad fer yer company, M'nerva. Come down whenever yeh like. I'm always happy t'see a friendly face."

Minerva promised him she would remember his invitation, and left to meet Professor Flitwick. Once at the gates, she conjured a garden chair to sit and wait for him, but didn't have to wait long. She heard a cheerful whistling in the distance, growing louder. Something from Bizet's Carmen, Minerva believed. She stood and banished her chair. It must be Flitwick; Albus had said that he liked music. A moment later, she saw a little man walking lightly toward her. Not allowing her surprise at his appearance show on her face – he was one of the smallest wizards she'd ever seen; he couldn't be more than four feet tall, if that – Minerva opened the gate.

"Professor Flitwick?" Minerva asked.

"Yes! And you must be Professor McGonagall! Delighted to make your acquaintance, Professor! Delighted!" His smile lit up his face, his dark brown eyes shone, and he did, indeed, appear delighted. Minerva couldn't help but return his smile as she took his outstretched hand and shook it. His grip was warm and firm.

"The pleasure is mine, Professor. Welcome to Hogwarts!" She looked around, half-expecting to see his luggage floating somewhere. "Have you any luggage?"

"Oh, yes, but a few convenient charms, and everything fits nicely in my pockets." He patted his coat pockets. "Thank you very much for taking the time to meet me, Professor. It's lovely to be back at Hogwarts again!"

"You're very welcome. I know that Professor Dumbledore is very pleased you took the position. I hope you enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will. I love children, I love Charms, I love Hogwarts – so what could be better than teaching Charms at Hogwarts?"

Minerva had slowed her pace some to match the short wizard's stride. "I feel the same, Professor."

"You know, if we're going to be colleagues, perhaps you would call me 'Filius'? If that's not too forward a suggestion on such short acquaintance?"

Minerva grinned. Slughorn suggests she use his first name, and she finds it somewhat off-putting, but this little wizard makes the same offer less than five minutes after meeting her, and she finds it charming. "I would like that, Filius, and I am Minerva, of course."

They continued to chat on the way up to the seventh floor, Minerva feeling rather badly that he had to climb so many stairs on such short legs, and he wasn't what one would call "young," either, but he seemed not to notice at all, bouncing along quite happily beside her. When they reached the Ravenclaw guest quarters, Minerva told him the password and invited him to try it.

"Allegro!" the new Charms teacher said, addressing the boy in the painting, who rose and bowed as the door clicked.

"Welcome, Professor Flitwick! I am Paris. Please tell me if there is any way in which I may serve you!"

"Marvelous! Thank you, Paris!"

Minerva showed the new teacher his temporary rooms, explaining that he would be assigned new ones before school began and promising to introduce him to the current Head of Ravenclaw in the morning.

"Johannes Birnbaum," Flitwick murmured, thinking. "I don't believe I know him."

Minerva explained that Birnbaum was the German Herbology teacher, and when she described the circumstances of his "Sorting," Filius clapped and laughed, obviously holding no prejudice against Birnbaum because he hadn't attended Hogwarts as a student. Minerva smiled. He would definitely be a nice change from the taciturn Professor Dustern.

By the time Minerva returned to her own rooms, it was close to midnight. She had woken up that morning at six o'clock so that she could have an early breakfast with her mother and get back to Hogwarts to meet with Albus; it had been a very long day. She was just entering her bedroom when Blampa popped in.

"Professor Minerva, I, Blampa, has a letter for Professor Minerva!"

Minerva took the parchment from the house-elf. She recognised Albus's handwriting.

"Thank you, Blampa." The house-elf Apparated away.

Minerva opened the note.

"Dear Minerva,

"Albus"

Minerva quickly undressed for bed and cast a Tempus alarm for five-thirty, then called Blampa and asked her to make sure that she was up at that time. It wouldn't do to oversleep. While she would prefer to take tea alone with Albus, she would tolerate Gertrude's presence if it meant starting the day with him. Climbing into bed, Minerva reminded herself once more that Gertrude was his Deputy, in addition to being friends with him longer than she herself had been alive. Before dousing the lights, she looked over at the landscape Albus had hung for her. If she were to become Head of Gryffindor, which now appeared inevitable, given Pretnick's condition, she would ask Albus to move the landscape with her. It was nice to be able to see that just before she fell asleep and first thing on waking, given that she couldn't see Albus himself. With that thought, Minerva hoped once again that he remembered his promise to give her the photograph of the two of them together. She hoped he could find it, although, with all that was going on, she would not blame him if he forgot to look for it.

Minerva woke with her Tempus alarm and bounded out of bed before Blampa arrived. She rushed through her morning routine, dressing in her mossy green summer-weight robes and charming her favourite shoes to match. She put her hair up in a flattering chignon and added the "hair things" that Albus had liked. Despite her shower, after only five hours sleep, she was still somewhat muzzy-headed and was looking forward to her first cup of tea.

As she made her way down to the second floor to the entrance to the Headmaster's Tower, Minerva wondered whether this was going to be a social meeting or whether they were going to discuss Pretnick's condition and his future. Although she wanted to support Albus, she couldn't see how they could keep him on the staff, even if they were able to sedate him during the transition. And who knew what the side-effects of that potion were? She wondered whether Slughorn would be forthcoming about them – or Belby, for that matter. He was probably doing his research with the permission of the Ministry, unless he'd gone to one of the countries on the Continent in which such research was much less regulated. Who knew what kind of immoral practices he used to inveigle werewolves to co-operate with his research . . . Minerva wasn't sure she wanted to know what incentives he employed. Although perhaps it was only the spectre of a lifetime of monthly transmogrification that induced their willing co-operation.

"Good morning, Minerva."

Minerva was surprised to see Gertrude approach her from the direction of the Headmaster's office entrance.

"Good morning, Gertrude. Aren't you having tea with the Headmaster and me this morning?"

"No. I had a quick cup of coffee with him, but I am going to go home briefly and see my parents before the meeting. It was my father's birthday last night, and I am sure that they would appreciate an explanation of why I missed it and didn't even send an owl. I have no doubt they are also concerned about me. And I can pick up some more clothes. I left nothing here that's suitable for the current weather." Indeed, the Deputy Headmistress was wearing the same pale blue and silver robes she had been wearing the previous day.

"I see. Of course, you must reassure them. I hope they aren't terribly worried."

The older witch quirked a smile. "They are used to me dropping everything when Albus needs me; I think it would take more than my disappearance for a day to get them truly worried."

"Well, we'll see you at eight-thirty, then?" Minerva felt uneasy, although she couldn't pinpoint precisely why.

Gertrude nodded. "Yes. Till then!"

The Arithmancy teacher walked briskly toward the side corridor where her own rooms were located. In fact, a few of the staff members had their rooms off the second floor corridor. Minerva had been somewhat surprised to find that her own rooms were so far removed from anyone else's. But she did have a much larger sitting room than most others she had seen, her bathroom was practically palatial, and, of course, Albus had thought that placing her rooms on the same floor as her classroom and office would be convenient for her, even if he was mistaken in that. The rooms of the two other staff members whom she visited most often, Poppy and Wilhelmina, were located near the infirmary and Gryffindor Tower, respectively, so she wouldn't have been next door to either of them, in any event.

Minerva rode the long spiral stairs up to the Headmaster's office, going over the list of staff in her head, who had replied, who had not, and who she knew to be present in the castle as of last night. A sudden realisation dawned on her, and she felt as though her heart had stopped. Binns. She hadn't contacted Binns. But she wouldn't even know how. What did he do during the summer? And was he expected to participate in decision-making meetings such as this? Albus would be so disappointed in her. He had left it all in her hands, and she had neglected to contact a teacher who most certainly was still in the castle . . . somewhere. Minerva almost turned around to go to the ghost's office – perhaps that was where he spent his time – but she didn't. She would simply have to tell Albus of her oversight. Unless Binns actually summered somewhere other than the castle, which Minerva couldn't imagine, he shouldn't be difficult to summon for the meeting. But Albus had been so proud of her, and now she had let him down.

Minerva made her way up to Albus's suite and knocked lightly on the door to his sitting room before opening it. He wasn't present, but there was a teapot, two teacups, and a partially drunk cup of coffee on the table. She was just taking this in when Albus, wearing his dressing gown, his hair and beard still slightly damp, and a colourful towel draped about his neck, stuck his head through the bedroom door.

He smiled when he saw her. "Ah, Minerva! I am so sorry I am yet again unpunctual – please make yourself at home. I will be right out."

"That's fine, Albus, take your time."

Minerva sat at the table and poured herself a cup of tea. She wondered, with a slight stabbing pain, whether Gertrude had woken him that morning, and if his words to her had been similar to those he had said to her the day before. It seemed that Quin's words were coming true – every source of joy was becoming a greater source of pain. Certainly it seemed that the pain she felt was increasing with each day. Perhaps the only thing to do was to create distance between them again, since it seemed that the ache in her heart had worsened as a result of her unwarranted feelings of closeness to Albus. But Minerva didn't think she could do that. It would be like cutting out her heart to step back from him now. She would simply have to harden herself against the pain. She could bear it. She could not bear separation from him; that would be worse.

Just as Minerva was taking a sip of tea, Albus bustled into the room, carrying his shoes.

"I am so sorry, Minerva! After I'd promised you I'd be on time – "

Minerva interrupted him, shaking her head, "Don't worry, Albus, really. It is very early." She smiled. "You could have taken the time to put on your shoes. I don't think I would have withered away in that amount of time!"

Albus chuckled. "It was more for my benefit, Minerva. An opportunity to spend a few more minutes with you!"

Minerva was glad that Albus sat down at that moment and bent to put on his shoes; his unexpected words had brought a blush of pleasure to her cheeks. By the time he sat up, she had brought her flush under control.

"Albus, I have something to tell you. I am afraid I made an error yesterday." Minerva took a deep breath. "I forgot Professor Binns."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Minerva, my dear! I looked through your letters before I retired last night – admirable job in trying to get Horace here earlier, by the way, and I'm glad you sent one to Apollyon – and I noticed there was no letter to Binns. Of course, it occurred to me that you may have informed him in person, but I thought it likely that his somewhat insubstantial existence had been overlooked, so I sent Wilspy to find him and inform him of the meeting. Much easier than one of us hunting him down. I still need to work on the ghost-detecting wards, I'm afraid." He grinned cheerfully at her and shook his head. "Still not finished with them, Minerva, after all these years. I think it will be the work of a lifetime."

Minerva couldn't help but return Albus's smile. "When I realised, I felt so stupid, having forgotten him so entirely."

"Quite understandable, Minerva, quite understandable!" He poured himself a cup of tea. "However, if you ever do wish to see Binns, he generally spends his nights in the staff room, sleeping in front of the fire. Rather a long-ingrained habit of his."

"I see. I was worried . . ."

Albus smiled kindly at her. He reached out and patted her hand, then let his hand rest on hers. "If you were worried that I would be disappointed, don't be. You did very well yesterday. I knew I could count on you, and I was not disappointed."

Minerva turned her hand under his, and her heart pounded when he closed his hand around hers. She curled her own fingers around his hand, holding it.

Trying to pull herself together, Minerva said softly, "I'm glad you understand, Albus." She took a barely controlled breath, so aware of Albus's warm palm on her own and the rich orchestra of his magical power thrumming against hers that she could scarcely think straight.

"I met Professor Flitwick last night." She swallowed and looked up at him. "He seems like a lovely person."

Albus gave her hand a slight squeeze, then let it go to fix his tea.

"He is, very," he answered, concentrating on adding just the right amount of milk and sugar to his tea, then stirring it well.

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea. Minerva dared a glance at him, once her heart had resumed its normal rhythm. Despite no doubt having had a short night, Albus looked wonderful, wearing robes of a soft dusky rose fabric with spirals of gold thread woven through it. He had charmed his shoes to match the robes, doing so as he pulled them on, not needing his wand or an incantation, but merely his will. She shivered. To think that she harboured such feelings for the most powerful wizard alive . . . it was absurd, and no doubt anyone who knew of it would believe it to be mere infatuation. Anyone but Quin; he would believe her, for he already knew the depth of her feelings.

Suddenly aware that she was staring, Minerva was too slow in looking away, and Albus's eyes met hers, their brilliant blue deepening as he smiled at her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she worked at regaining her calm.

"I am glad you liked Filius, Minerva. Perhaps you could assist him with whatever he may need while he is here over the next few days? If you don't mind, of course."

"Not at all," she said as she tried simultaneously to converse normally and to practice her Occlumency exercises. "It would be difficult not to like him, I think. He is completely charming." They chuckled at her unintentional pun. "I will be sure to see that he has whatever he needs and feels at home."

"Good. I will be busy over the next few days, as you might imagine. I am grateful for whatever help you can give us. Naturally, Gertrude is going to be working on this, too, but I would truly value your opinions, my dear, as well as your assistance."

"I will be very happy to do whatever I can. I saw Gertrude as I was on my way here, Albus," Minerva said hesitantly, suddenly aware of what it had been about Gertrude's appearance that had disturbed her and now wishing she hadn't mentioned that she'd seen her. The witch had been wearing the same clothes she'd had on the day before. Of course, Gertie had said she didn't have anything to wear, but nonetheless . . . Albus had clearly not been up long when Minerva had arrived. Had Gertie's face not only been the first thing Albus had seen on waking, but the last thing he'd seen before falling asleep? The thought caused Minerva's stomach to clench and her throat to close. She doubted she could swallow even tea.

Albus finished his cup of tea and said, "Oh, yes, she stopped by early to let me know that she was going to her parents before the meeting. We had a long talk last night, so when she came by this morning, I agreed that it was unnecessary for us to meet this morning." He grinned. "I had my alarm clock set for five forty-five, and it was rather a surprise to wake up and have Wilspy tell me I had a guest! I thought I had set my clock wrong and that it was you here waiting for me. I was somewhat disappointed to learn that it was only quarter to six and . . . well, Gertrude was drinking coffee in my sitting room." He fiddled with his spoon distractedly. "She always does drink that coffee, you know."

Relief flooded Minerva. Gertie had only just come up for a cup of coffee. She hadn't spent the night.

"Yes, she drank coffee every morning when I was in Cornwall." Minerva felt she was on the verge of babbling.

"Mmm. She complains about the Hogwarts coffee. Don't know why. Coffee is coffee, after all," Albus said.

"I had a cup while I was there; it was better than I remember coffee being. It smelled different, too." Now that she was relieved of her immediate worry, Minerva was curious about their conversation. "But you said that you two had talked quite late last night? Did you come to any conclusions?" Minerva wanted to ask him if Gertrude had managed to change his mind about proposing that Pretnick remain on the staff, but didn't want to be so blunt.

Albus, used to years of debate in the Wizengamot and elsewhere, grinned puckishly, "You mean to ask whether I am still set on finding a way for Robert to remain in his position here at Hogwarts?"

Minerva blushed faintly. "Well, yes, actually. It does seem . . . a formidable proposition, after all."

"Yes, but I think that, with some creative scheduling and other teachers pitching in and covering a few classes when necessary, we can enable Robert to continue teaching. The dungeons of Hogwarts are far more extensive than most people are aware; we could create a special chamber for him to stay in for the duration of the change – "

"Here? Inside the castle? Albus, I know you mean well, but whatever safeguards you put in place, there are children in the castle. If there should be an accident of some sort, if he should escape or if someone should accidentally happen upon him – it just won't do, neither for the school nor for you, should people learn of it." Minerva paused. She was doing just what she had told Gertrude she wouldn't dare: telling Albus what she thought was best. "I just think that, even if we could all be certain that no children were in danger, everyone would be more comfortable if he were confined elsewhere. Somewhere in the country, perhaps."

Albus sighed. "Gertrude said something similar last night. But I am sure that I could create wards that would contain him and keep others out. And if this potion of Belby's is safe and actually does sedate the werewolf during the transformation, the danger would be minimal even without the wards."

"The potions are experimental, Albus. You heard Slughorn last night. Who knows how effective it will be? Or how safe for Pretnick? And someone will have to look after him when he emerges from his confinement – even if the potion does work, I can't imagine he would be in any shape to teach immediately after, and we don't know what kind of side effects it might have on him."

The two continued to debate the issue for an hour, until finally Minerva drew a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "And what about Robert himself, Albus? You mentioned yesterday evening that he wasn't in favour of the idea."

"Well, we didn't discuss it in such detail, of course, but I did mention to him that there had been some progress toward a potion. I believe his concerns to be similar to those you and Gertrude have, although at the moment, he's not in any condition to articulate them. Much of his objection comes simply from his sense of despair. I think that if we could give him reason to hope for the future, much of his despair would be allayed."

"I see . . . well, it will be an interesting meeting this morning, I am sure." Minerva shook her head, thinking of the possible reactions to Albus's news and then to his proposal. "I still have my doubts, Albus, but if you believe it can be done . . . ."

"This has been a very good preparation for the meeting, Minerva. I am sure that you have voiced many of the objections that any of the other staff may have, other than those arising out of pure prejudice, of course." Albus smiled at her. "Every one of your concerns was reasonable. I hope that I can address them adequately."

"Albus, aside from those concerns, it is likely that the attack will eventually be reported in the Daily Prophet at some point, possibly quite soon. Even if Robert's name can be kept out of the original articles, word will spread. I can't imagine that you will keep the Board of Governors in the dark about this, and they may insist that the parents be notified if Robert continues to teach. Have you thought about how you might deal with them? No matter how convincing you may be with the staff, or even with the Governors, parents are quite another matter. As you said to me once quite a long time ago, what parent would want to send a child to a school where death or serious injury was more than a remote possibility? Even those who may agree with you intellectually may be unable to bring themselves to reconcile that agreement with their fears for their own children."

"Ah, I have taught you well, Minerva," Albus replied with a smile. "It is good to know that you were listening to me – occasionally, anyway!"

"Don't joke about it now, Albus. It is a genuine problem." Minerva frowned "Even if I believed the students were all safe during the full moon, I cannot think of an argument to convince parents of it. And some will simply not want him here, even during the rest of the month, simply because he is a werewolf. They will see him as having a taint at all times, not just when he is transformed."

"I know, my dear, and I do not joke about that. I hope this will become an opportunity to teach everyone that it is better to integrate those who are so afflicted, rather than marginalising them. That is folly and can only lead to trouble."

"And do you believe that everyone is educable?" Minerva sounded sceptical.

"No, but it is only necessary that we persuade the majority to give this scheme a chance to work."

"I believe that you will need more than a majority of the staff, however, Albus. Without their full support, both you and Robert would be in for a very difficult time – and it could undermine your authority in other areas, as well. That would be good neither for Hogwarts nor for you," Minerva responded.

Albus nodded slowly. "Then we must be persuasive this morning."

"And if we are not?" she asked.

"We will try again. Give everyone time to think about it."

"Hmm. Well, I may or may not voice some of my concerns at the meeting, Albus, but you know that you have my support. Even if I am not entirely convinced."

"You shouldn't support me blindly, Minerva. That is not what I need from you." Albus furrowed his brow.

"I do not support you blindly, Albus. I believe that, whatever my concerns, you will address them adequately, even if I do not completely see how at the moment." She grinned wryly. "And I will voice them, if you need me to."

Albus smiled. "That is what I need. I need to know that when you agree with me, it is because you genuinely do agree, and that when you have doubts, you will tell me of them. I may not always be aware of every pitfall of one of my plans."

Minerva chuckled. "I doubt that I have come up with a single objection or scenario this morning for which you did not have an answer – even if I've not always been convinced of its adequacy."

"Keep me on my toes, Minerva!" Albus said brightly.

"Well, I suppose we should get to breakfast," Minerva said with a slight sigh, not eager to bring an end to her time with Albus. "I told Filius that I would stop by and fetch him for breakfast at seven-thirty, and it is almost that already."

"On a first-name basis already, are you?" Albus asked with a grin.

"He invited me to call him by his first name. If you think it inappropriate – "

"Only teasing, my dear! You are colleagues. Filius is a very open and friendly soul. I believe you two will get along quite well."

Minerva rose from the table. "I do think he may prove to be more collegial than some," she agreed.

She looked down at Albus; his cheeks seemed rosier that morning, the colour of his robes bringing out the pink in his skin, and his hair and beard were soft and full from his recent shower. But it was his bright, smiling blue eyes that brought a smile to her own face and a warmth to her heart.

"I will see you in the Great Hall in a little while, then, Albus." She hesitated. "I enjoyed this, even if it was business, and not particularly pleasant business."

"So did I, my dear, so did I."

Overcome by her feelings of warmth toward him, Minerva bent and lightly kissed his cheek before quickly turning and leaving the room.

Oh, now that had been a mistake. Minerva rushed down the moving stairs, one hand hovering cautiously over the rail as she trotted down the steps as they spiralled toward the second floor. Even if Albus thought nothing of it, it was highly unprofessional to end a meeting with one's boss by kissing him on the cheek! She surely would never have done that with any of her previous superiors at the Ministry, not even Amelia Bones, of whom Minerva had grown quite fond over the years. Of course, she and Albus were friends, too, but it had been a business meeting and not a social occasion, not to mention the fact that kissing him had only served to bring all of her feelings for him rushing to the surface. She had to avoid that, lest she give herself away one day, and destroy their friendship. But he had been so sweet, from the moment he had sat down in the chair to put on his shoes, telling her that he was taking the opportunity to spend more time with her – even if it was only a few minutes – to the way he had taken her hand and held it, and even to his affectionate teasing.

And it had been such a relief to realise that Gertrude had not spent the night with him, anymore than Albus had spent the night with her when Poppy had interrupted their breakfast last week. And Gertrude's had not been the first face he had seen that morning – little Wilspy's had been. Of course, that didn't precisely clarify the nature of their relationship for her . . . but wouldn't Gertrude have woken him herself if they were . . . involved in some way? Perhaps not, not if she believed that he needed his sleep after his long day. Albus had certainly found her presence in his sitting room unremarkable . . . although he almost seemed to imply that he had been disappointed that it had been Gertrude, and not she, who was waiting for him, although he should have been expecting her, as well.

Minerva shook her head, clearing it. She was being foolish. All of it, from beginning to end. Foolish to worry about a little kiss on the cheek, foolish to worry about Albus's relationship with Gertrude, foolish to even beginning reading anything into Albus's attitude toward Gertrude or toward her. She would just have to guard her feelings in the future. Minerva stepped around the gargoyle and began the long trip to the seventh floor and the Ravenclaw guest quarters.

Several stories above her, Albus sat staring into his teacup, wondering what Hafrena MacAirt would have to say about the few tea leaves that had settled to the bottom of it. When Minerva had bent to kiss his cheek, he had very nearly reached for her and returned her kiss, but if he had, could he have stopped there? He had thought he had mastered his reactions to her, but now he didn't know if he would ever be able to master them.

His inclination to meet with Minerva only in public had been a good one, he thought, and he only had invited her to early tea on Gertrude's suggestion because he had believed the three of them would be meeting together. But when Gertie had come by early and said that she thought she needed to go home briefly, he had been slightly disappointed that she would be leaving, but he had also felt an unexpected thrill go through him at the thought of spending time alone with Minerva. It went entirely against his better judgment. He still remembered how lovely it had been to wake up the evening before and see Minerva's face hovering above his own; he remembered saying something, something foolish, no doubt, and seeing her smile. . . .

What was he to do? He looked into the teacup again. With some imagination, he could see two hearts, each split down the middle, a few droplets of the remaining tea seeming to form tears. But he was no tasseomancer; he didn't even believe in such things, not really, despite Eliza MacAirt's pronouncement one hundred years ago that he should not marry Dervilia . . . the old witch had always been saying such things, after all. Not that there weren't true prophecies, of course, but they were few and far between. The rest was intuition and, he thought, looking into his teacup, wishful thinking . . . or dolorous thinking, in this case. Weeping broken hearts. Such foolishness.

Albus waved his hand almost angrily, banishing all of the tea things from the table, and stood. He had a hard meeting ahead of him, and he had no time for such idiocy. He would overcome this, this foolish, aging heart of his, betraying him now, in the autumn of his life.

Unbidden, the memory came to Albus of Minerva, a dozen years before, standing at the top of the cliff, wind whipping through her hair, and he felt the same ache he had then. But it was what it was and would have to remain so. Infatuation or love, it didn't matter what it was, he would have to cordon it off, maintain control over himself, remain Minerva's mentor and friend, and if that meant that he could not be alone with Minerva, then so be it. If it were to be necessary that they be alone, he would ensure they were in his office, and he would remain the Headmaster, behind his desk. He couldn't behave imprudently if he were confined to his desk, after all. His throat constricted. It was for the best . . . but why, then, did the thought of seeing Minerva again and keeping his distance from her cause a stabbing sharp sorrow to course through him?

A nice long chapter to hold you until sometime next week! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy Deathly Hallows!