Using the mirror in front of her to pull her hair into her usual tight bun, Minerva took a brief frown at the growing wrinkle in her forehead, deepening the crease. It was eleven thirty when Dumbledore had called her to meet him upstairs in his office, and she didn’t want to make the headmaster wait. Smoothing her robe one last time, she broke into brisk steps down the long corridors. Her mind raced over what scenario had called her to the office. School had only been out two nights but she hadn’t been home yet, and even the ghosts were absent.