Sherbet Lemon

The next morning, a long line of women stretched from the gates of Hogwarts halfway to Hogsmeade.

"There's a fair queue of women outside, Albus – should we have Bloomie show them in?" Aberforth asked his brother.

"It's not eight o'clock yet, Aberforth," Albus said, peering out the window and wrinkling his nose at the women he saw there. "And I said eight o'clock, and eight o'clock it shall jolly well be. You see?" he said, pulling out his watch with twelve hands and no numbers, "twelve seconds to go. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!"

As Albus was counting, a strong wind began to pick up outside. At first, the women's clothes were blown about, but as the wind grew in strength and speed, they began to be blown away. Several women grabbed hold of the gates, but their grip failed and they were blown away too. A small silver tabby cat padded lightly up to the gates and sat down in front of them patiently. Fawkes, who was looking out the window, smiled at the sight.

"Bloomie!" Aberforth called. "You may now show them in, one at a time."

"Yes, Master Aberforth," Bloomie replied before popping down to the gates and opening them to the tabby cat, who suddenly changed into a woman.

"You may be coming in now, one at a time," Bloomie told her, looking around for the other women in confusion.

"Thank you," Minerva McGonagall said and stepped onto the grounds of Hogwarts. Bloomie led her up to the Headmaster's office. Albus was sitting in his high-backed chair, looking through his mail as she entered the office. Aberforth rose from his seat by the fire and greeted her.

"You are the brother of Albus Dumbledore, are you not?" she asked him imperiously.

"Uh, yes, yes I am," he replied, taken aback at the forthrightness of this woman. Albus looked up from his mail, his mouth dropping open at the sight of this woman.

"All right. Now then, the qualifications." She took a piece of parchment from her robe's pocket. "'Item one: a cheery disposition.' I am never cross. 'Item two: rosy cheeks.' Obviously. 'Item three: play games, all sorts.' Well, I'm sure that your brother will find my games extremely diverting."

Aberforth gaped open-mouthed at the parchment. "Eh, this parchment – where did you get it from? I thought I threw it away."

"Excuse me," Minerva said. "'Item four: you must be kind.' I am kind, but extremely firm." She looked up from the paper and noticed Aberforth re-enacting taking the paper from Albus and throwing it away, much to the amusement of Fawkes and Albus. "Excuse me, have you lost something?" she asked him.

"Ah! Yes – that paper, you see. I thought that I –" Aberforth said, but was cut off.

"You are Aberforth Dumbledore, are you not?" she asked him.

"What?" he replied.

"And you did advertise for a wife for your brother, did you not?"

"Aberforth Dumbledore," Aberforth murmured distractedly.

"Very well, then. That seems to be settled. Now, Headmaster Dumbledore," she said, turning to him, "Will you show me to our rooms?" Albus immediately leapt out of his chair and extended his arm before leading her up a set of brass spiral stairs. Aberforth remained in the middle of the room, muttering to himself.

"Well, is that it, then?" Armando Dippet asked curiously.

"Yes, yes, I suppose it is," Aberforth said, still going through the motions of throwing away the paper.

"Well, then, call your house-elf to dismiss the others!" Armando replied impatiently. He had no time for buffoons.

"Right, right," Aberforth muttered distractedly. "Bloomie!"

The house-elf appeared in the room with a pop. "Yes, Master Aberforth?" Bloomie asked.

"Tell the other applicants they may go. The position has been filled."

"The others, Master Aberforth?" Bloomie asked, confused.

"Yes, the others," he snapped impatiently. "How many wives do you think that Albus needs? Polygamy is illegal in Britain, after all!"

Bloomie nodded, then popped down to the main gates. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was sitting just inside the gates.

"The position is being filled," Bloomie told her, and Mrs. Norris walked away.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm afraid our rooms aren't very tidy," Albus said apologetically to Minerva. She took in the expansive, yet cluttered room with a discerning eye.

"It is rather like a bear pit, isn't it?" she asked him. He led her into the bedroom.

"This is our room, and there's a lovely view of the lake," he said nervously, watching as her sharp eyes noticed every detail.

"Hmm. Well, it's not exactly Holyroodhouse, is it? Still, it is fairly clean. Yes, I think it will be quite suitable. It just needs a womanly touch here and there. Well, first things first," she said, putting her carpetbag on an empty table. He looked inside – it was empty.

"I always say the place to hang a hat is on a hat stand," she told him, pulling a hat stand out of her bag and placing it by the doorway. His eyebrows inched upward in shock at its sudden appearance. He looked in the bag again – it was still empty.

"Ah! This will never do!" she exclaimed, looking at the small mirror by the dresser. "I much prefer seeing all of my face at the same time," she said, pulling a large mirror out of her bag, waving her wand and attaching it firmly on the wall in place of the smaller one. He looked at her in shock.

"There – but there was nothing in it!" Albus said confusedly, looking at her.

"You of all people should know, Albus, never judge things by their appearance. Even carpetbags. I'm quite sure that I never do."

The next item she extracted from her carpetbag was a simple golden perch. "For you, Fawkes," she told the phoenix, and he flew to it, trilling happily.

"We'd better keep an eye on this one, Fawkes," Albus murmured to him. "She's tricky."

"She's wonderful," Fawkes replied, a bit vehemently.

Their attention was drawn back to the woman as she declared, looking around the room, "Much better!"

Rummaging around in her bag, she murmured, "Now, let me see. That's funny. I always carry it with me. It must be here somewhere..."

"What?" Albus asked rather rudely.

"My tape measure," she told him patiently.

"What do you want it for?" he persisted.

"I want to see how you measure up," she said, still rummaging about in her bag. "Well, that's the funniest thing I ever saw. I know it's down here somewhere. Ah, ha-ha, ha-ha: here it is. Good. Come along, then," she told Albus, walking over to the doorway. "Quickly. Head up, Albus, and don't slouch," she said as she measured him. "Aha, just as I thought. 'Sloppy, with an extremely large sweet tooth.'"

"That's not true!" Albus protested as Fawkes chuckled.

"See for yourself," she said, showing him the measuring tape.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Sloppy, With an Extremely Large Sweet Tooth

"How about you?" he asked her, rather put out that a silly tape measure could read him so accurately.

"Very well," she said, handing him one end of the tape measure. "Hold this for me, please."

She looked at the measurement. "Aha, just as I suspected. 'Minerva McGonagall, practically perfect in every way.'"

"Minerva McGonagall! Is that your name? It's lovely," Albus told her.

"Thank you, I've always liked it," she told him, blushing slightly. "Now, shall we get on with it?"

"Get on with what?" Albus asked her confusedly.

"In your advertisement, did you not specifically request to play games?" she asked him, hands on her hips.

"Oh, yes!" Albus exclaimed.

"Very well, then. Our first game is called 'well begun is half done.'"

Albus frowned. "I don't like the sound of that game."

"Otherwise entitled," Minerva continued, "'Let's tidy up our quarters.'"

"I told you she was tricky," Albus whispered to Fawkes.

"Ahem," Minerva said, looking at Albus. He blushed. "Shall we begin?"

"It is a game, isn't it, Minerva?" he asked her.

"Well, it depends on your point of view. You see." Albus was startled as she broke into song.

"In ev'ry job that must be done

There is an element of fun

you find the fun and snap!

The job's a game

And ev'ry task you undertake

Becomes a piece of cake

A lark! A spree!

It's very clear to see

That a...

Sherbet lemon helps the potion go down

The potion go down-own

The potion go down

Just a sherbet lemon helps the potion go down

In a most delightful way

A phoenix feathering his nest

Has very little time to rest

While gathering his bits of twine and twig

Though quite intent in his pursuit

He has a merry tune to toot

He knows a song

Will move the job along

For a...

Sherbet lemon helps the potion go down

The potion go down-own

The potion go down

Just a sherbet lemon helps the potion go down

In a most delightful way

The honeybees that fetch the nectar

From the flowers to the comb

Never tire of ever buzzing to and fro

Because they take a little nip

From every flower that they sip

And hence," she sang, standing in front of the mirror.

"And hence," her reflection repeated.

"They find," Minerva sang.

"They find," her reflection repeated again.

"Their task is not a grind," Minerva and her reflection sang in harmony.

"Ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah!" her reflection sang. Minerva glared at it.

"Cheeky."

"For a...

Sherbet lemon helps the potion go down

The potion go down-own

The potion go down

Just a sherbet lemon helps the potion go down

In a most delightful way," Minerva finished.

During the song, Minerva and Albus had gone about the room and snapped their fingers, causing the items in disarray to put themselves back in their proper places.

When they had finished, Minerva turned to Albus. "Now, are you ready for our outing?" she asked him.

"I don't want an outing," he whinged. "I want to tidy up our rooms again."

"Enough is as good as a feast," she told him, glaring. "Come along, now."

She walked into their bedroom and rummaged about in her carpetbag again, extracting a sketchbook.

"Where are we going?" Albus asked.

Fawkes flew over and landed on Minerva's shoulder as she flipped through the pages. "Ooh, 'Punting on the Thames.' That's always good if you like an outing." She turned the page.

"The circus. How about a lovely circus?" Fawkes asked Albus. "Lions and tigers. World-famous artistes performing death-defying feats of dexterity and skill before your very eyes."

Albus walked over and looked at the pages as Minerva turned them. Suddenly, he placed his hand over hers, ignoring the tingle that shot through his body at their first skin-to-skin contact, and pointed at the picture.

"Oh, that's lovely. If we can, I'd much rather go there."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Fawkes asked, as proud as if he had sketched the picture himself. "A typical English countryside, as done by a true and loving hand. Though you can't see it, there's a little country fair down that road and, uh, over the hill."

"Please may we go, Minerva? Please? It's such a lovely place – don't you think it's lovely, Minerva?" Albus questioned her.

"Now's the time, Minerva, no one is here to bother us," Fawkes told her.

"I have no intention of making a spectacle of myself, thank you," she told the phoenix and the man primly.

"All right, then, I'll do it myself," Fawkes said stubbornly.

"Do what?" she asked him.

"A bit of magic," he replied, to her great amusement. "It's easy!" he said defiantly. "Let's see. You think. You wink. You do a double blink. You close your eyes and... jump!" Fawkes jumped onto the picture. Nothing happened.

"Is something supposed to happen?" Albus asked Fawkes, laughing.

"Fawkes, what utter nonsense! Oh, why do you always complicate things that are really quite simple? Give me your hand, please, Albus. Grab on to my shoulder, please, Fawkes. All right? One, two, three!"