A/N: Hello and a very merry Christmas to YOU my dear reader! This is first and foremost, a Christmas present for Sylvadragon, but I'd like to secondly dedicate this to all those who just haven't been "feeling it" this year, who have been bombarded with the commercialism and haven't yet felt what Christmas is all about. There is still time. :D I am posting this a day early in the hopes that you will feel it after reading this. Hopefully, I've managed to explain what I think about it well enough. :D Also, this is a part of "A Most Unexpected Gift" universe, but I don't consider it an official continuation. This also probably will continue, but I just wanted this up before it was Christmas. Not beta-read, so sit back and enjoy the ride! :D

Red Vines and Turpentines

The grounds waiting just outside loomed ever peacefully, as if such peace could easily be attained by simply venturing out there. Unable to resist the impulse any longer, Minerva schooled herself from making a beeline towards the alcove of which she was so fond. It was rarely frequented, with walkways almost hidden in the snow; if someone had once found this place in the spring, it'd nearly be impossible to find this place now. Nothing appeared distinguishable in this swirling mass of crystal snow.

But Minerva knew the way. She had come here ever since her second year of teaching when she needed time to cool down for a bit—or just when she needed silence a few spells could not afford. She wanted tranquility; not a muffled experience of complete silence.

She sought and found her reward; a stone gray bench seemed to wait for her. A bird who had thought it better to linger through the cold winter months greeted her with a quiet, solemn song, so lonesome as he was without his brothers. She could relate. It seemed as though everyone had found the spring weather they were looking for, except for her. It bothered her that she could not find it—everyone seemed to find whatever made them happy in their lives, and here she was, merely existing. About a decade ago, if anyone had asked, she would've responded without a doubt that teaching was what she was made for, but now…now the peace once afforded her was slipping away. Not even a day out here could satisfy her completely anymore. There was some type of variable inadvertently missing.

The lone songbird she had noted earlier soared near her and made his tentative approach toward her seated form on the bench. Noticing him, she said, "We're quite the pair, aren't we? Except I have no one waiting on me as I wait upon you." With that, she vanished a patch of snow on the ground with her wand and coaxed some worms to abandon their hibernation prematurely. They seemed to realize their mistake a moment too late, for the bird gleefully pounced upon them, and with his beak full, proceeded to twitter to Minerva his thanks.

She smiled a wan smile despite herself and watched as the songbird flew back up to his lonely nest, singing a happy tune now that his tummy was full.

It wasn't exactly teaching that was giving her grief…no. If it was, she would've already decided to give it up a few years before, when this restlessness was first known. But it hadn't abated; if anything, it had only intensified during winter months like these. She began to wonder if there was something wrong with her. Everyone else seemed to be bustling about everywhere; purchasing their final gifts for the Yuletide season and getting all caught up in the avarice of it all. It seemed as if everywhere she went, people were laden with shopping bags, even when she knew they weren't buying for dozens of people. No, only a select few were granted this superfluousness—people nowadays bought only for family members and closest of friends. She just didn't understand it. Were people less grateful than they were even twenty years ago? She had grown up in a time much like this; a time of war, but it had been quite different. Even though her father had been able to support her well enough, she recalled there were things they simply went without. Christmas used to be a grand time because she knew whatever her father managed to purchase for her signified a lot of sacrifice on his part…she hadn't recognized that at first, but her few presents were always well-considered, well-thought out, and she enjoyed them all. There was no need to get everything that everyone else was getting; her father's careful selection provided plenty of wonder for her throughout the holiday season. She even distinctly recalled a time during her second year when she overheard a few seventh year Slytherins boasting about how many expensive things they had received, only to have their egos deflated by their peers' collective shock, rather than admiration. "You got that much?" they had inquired, their eyes as large as saucers. It had put them in their place all right!

But now it seemed the tables had turned; everyone wanted everything and there was little, if anything, to be grateful for. It was times like these that she wished her father were still alive…his wonderful gifts would effectively distract her from the selfishness she viewed everywhere else. She was certain not everyone was like what she perceived, but it was getting difficult to make that distinction. No matter where she went in the school, all of the conversations were flanked with questions like, "So what are you hoping to get?" "I want a new broomstick myself—" "I want a new diamond from my boyfriend Gerald; wasn't he such a darling to get me this necklace earlier this year? I think a ring would suit it perfectly—" Minerva sighed deeply, slightly shaking her head in disapproval. Where she went without, these children seemed to always get everything they wanted. It was such a shame. What was there to be grateful for when you always got exactly what you wanted every year?

She of course, was grateful for many things…like the bird who had simply decided to stay behind. He may be cold at night, but he was always happy to sing her a song in exchange for food that she alone would provide. She was grateful she was a teacher here—that was one dream she had once feared would never be realized, but she had managed to pass every exam. As grateful as she was for Hogwarts housing her, she felt as though her wonder had died a little, like the flowers that disappeared every December. She was also in part, grateful she was silly enough to have knitted her elder professor a pair of socks, even though she yet remained a trifle embarrassed by it…it wasn't like it was anything new; she had done that years ago when she was barely able to call herself a woman, much less a qualified witch.

She snorted at herself, remembering…she didn't know what love was then. She was shocked to rediscover it once she had returned five years ago—now her love for her old Transfiguration professor had transformed into something gaudy poets were always writing about, something beautiful. It was stupid to wish for it in return now…hadn't she just decided how disgusting it was that people never seemed to be satisfied with what they had anymore? She had a wonderful friendship with the man that she wouldn't trade for anything; not even for the passionate love she desired. How unbelievably deluded had she become? She was just like the girl Amanda, who wasn't even satisfied with a diamond heart-shaped necklace that surely conveyed from Mr. William just how much he cared about her…

"Hello Minerva," a voice said. She cast her gaze above her with such speed she caused her neck to scream in protest at the motion. Wincing, she nodded toward her superior and the very man she had just been thinking about—trying not to allow the belying evidence to show just how deeply he had frightened her.

"Good afternoon Albus," she finally said as he sat beside her on the bench, wondering what else to say. The songbird had gone.

Dumbledore deeply sighed, his breath vapor wafting before him, and she turned in his direction, happy to have anything distract her morose thoughts. "I apologize for having intruded—you seemed to be very lost in thought."

Minerva snorted. "Don't bother being sorry. It was better you thought to discourage such nonsense…"

He also turned to look at her and quirked an eyebrow seriously. "Oh? What nonsense could be in that 'no-nonsense' head of yours?"

"Believe me—" she choked, trying not to snort again, "—there is plenty of nonsense everywhere. Why else do you think I am so devoutly against it where I can control it?"

"Ahh," he drew out knowingly with a smile, "I believe you have far more control than that, my dear. We are in control of not only our thoughts, but our reactions to them. There's no need to be bothered by some silly thoughts…"

Minerva looked away and frowned in thought; it was like he had known exactly what she was thinking—it fitted far too well. When her silence continued, Albus pressed her to share.

"Oh come now, they could not be so dreary on such a beautiful winter's eve…why else would you be out here enjoying the scenery? Indeed, if you were far beyond anyone's reach, you would be in your rooms at the moment, stewing over this contemplation alone."

A snort escaped her without her notice. "Well, I was alone—"

"—on the contrary, my dear," Dumbledore countered pleasantly, and Minerva turned to glare at him, but his eyes were twinkling gaily at her. "You had come to feed the songbird."

She frowned. "How do you know about that?" Did he follow me here?

"Oh, my dear," Albus exclaimed as it if were common knowledge, "surely you don't think you've been the only one feeding the poor thing. I have come here on occasion as have a few other professors on my request when I haven't had the time. It's a pity our paths have never crossed until now…it would've been rather of a relief to know you were feeding him as well. As honorable as Rubeus is, I am afraid he can become quite forgetful…"

"Touché Albus Dumbledore," Minerva retorted. "I'd say you are far more forgetful than the entire staff."

"Precisely," he breathed. They fell into silence for a time after that and Minerva reflected on his actions. It was so like him to just not send the bird south like he very well could have. He decided to humor the bird, to provide for it while it had made such a stupid decision rather than just send him on with his forgotten flock. Despite how it irritated her that he hadn't just sent the bird there even when he knew the fate that would befall it, it warmed her to know just how much he cared—even for an adolescent bird who didn't know any better.

"I wonder if we've made a mistake," Minerva said suddenly once the thought had come to her. Dumbledore peered at her questioningly and she elaborated, "Concerning the bird, I mean…I believe it perhaps would've been wiser to send him south because you knew he hadn't left."

"What purpose would that serve, Minerva?" he inquired, appearing interested. "This way, he must rely on people—humans, Minerva, to give him food—"

"That's just it!" she interrupted. "If we interfere, he isn't learning for himself…"

"I think not, Minerva. He will be a very humble bird by the time all this is through—and that is just what he needs in order to learn not to repeat this course next year. He now relies on things he is supposed to fear—humans to feed him. Perhaps in such circumstances, it would cause one to become egotistical, but he seemed very grateful when you fed him, did he not? I doubt he will do this again."

His words struck something in her; again, it felt as though he had known exactly what she was thinking.

"What are you suggesting?" she finally asked in defeat.

He merely chuckled and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. "Why would I come here to see you now, Minerva? Has something changed?"

She smiled when he had bestowed his kiss, but frowned as soon as the questions issued from his mouth. "You knew I had been coming here…all along." In answer, he only peered at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles, his eyes twinkling with a fervor unmatched.

Dumbledore abruptly cut off her pending rant by holding a hand up. "That is not the reason I have decided to reveal myself today—"

"'Reveal yourself'?!" Minerva quoted indignantly. "So you're openly admitting to spying on me?"

The twinkle disappeared, and brows furrowed in alarm. "I didn't say that—"

"There's a term for people like you Professor," she spat the title out as if it were some kind of disease.

"For people like me…?"

"Are you familiar with it?" she continued, apparently not having heard him. "It's called a Peeping Tom."

Dumbledore's mustache twitched horribly as Minerva continued with her lengthy rant. "I can't believe you just admitted to spying on me—all this time! And it wasn't exactly in those words, I agree, but in the most roundabout fashion you could possibly think of—"

Dumbledore was now trying very hard not to laugh. "To tell you the truth…there wasn't much to peep at—"

Minerva suddenly looked at him, her expression contorted into horrified comprehension. "ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!"

He only laughed as she continued to stew beside him, looking as though she very much wanted to hex him. "Just think if one of the students had overheard that—" Minerva muttered, utterly scandalized he would even say such a thing.

The chuckling intensified. "Minerva, I am rather certain that you screaming my name in such a fashion would most likely—"

"Do not insinuate yet another lewd thing or I shall be forced to hex you!"

Dumbledore immediately fell silent. Quelled at last, he tried much more calmly this time. "Unfortunately, none of these were the reasons I decided to come here tonight. It is sunset, my dear."

"Indeed," she sniffed, her arms crossed.

"Would you please allow me to finish?" he pleaded. Minerva turned to look at him, about to glare again, but he looked as though he had suffered one-too-many misunderstandings tonight. She thought she should be the adult, but the way he looked at her, so beseechingly…he may as well have proposed marriage. Disgusted with herself, Minerva shook her head a fraction and met his eyes once more. When she gave her complacent nod, the old man smiled again and Minerva found herself smiling back.

"As I was saying…I have not yet said anything because I considered this a place of yours, and you would come here when you needed a time and a place to think on whatever it is you think on. I myself have my own thinking spot, and once I arrive, I do not wish to be bothered until I leave of my own accord. It is of my own design, however—headmasters cannot always disappear when they wish to. Nevertheless, I understood. I personally coordinated the feedings to not interfere with your time coming here; I daresay I have been very careful—you follow no distinct pattern of the days you come here, or even the time. The only consistent thing is that you come. Forgive me, my dear, but it is even more difficult to know when you would come here because you keep most everything to yourself."

Minerva thought for a moment. "Well, my misdeeds are not unlike your own then, if a misdeed is a wish to have some time alone to think. You certainly seem to do the same with your own time…"

"Ah, but I do not."

Minerva eyed him in puzzlement. "Do not?" she asked.

He gave a generous shake of his head. "No, when I have a problem, I seek to confide in anyone who will listen. Of course, it always helps to talk to someone who may give me insight. It would not be prudential for me to complain to Hagrid about ministry bores as he would not be the most beneficial to me, Minerva. I have sensed, for some time now, that you are in some emotional distress, and I have waited for it to lessen, perhaps to blow over or disappear on its own, yet it has not. If anything, it has only worsened. Is there something troubling you, Minerva? I am not often wrong, but considering you, I may very well be…"

"No, there's…there's nothing," she claimed automatically, almost hoping he would leave it at that and go.

But Albus looked at her in his very Dumbledore-like manner. "Are you certain? Remember, the bird in the tree remains very hungry when he does not make his presence known. Perhaps he would have starved had I myself not noticed him. I should very much like to save you from the same fate."

As eloquent as the metaphor was, Minerva caught a hold of it at once. "I daresay I am not a bird about to starve to death," she remarked bluntly. Albus laughed for a moment or two, and she added, "But this is something that has bothered me for more than a few years…"

Albus inclined his head knowingly, stroking his beard and chin in thought. "It seems as though this is not a problem that shall vanish overnight."

Minerva shook her head sadly. "No, it seems not."

After a few more minutes of silence, Minerva said, "I'm just…bothered by the fact that people cannot find it within themselves to be content with what they already have. I've heard some students discussing what they wanted for Christmas—I've never heard more ungratefulness in my entire life! It almost felt as though what they already had would never be enough, and I was troubled to find myself arriving at this conclusion year after year. Some students may be older, but some are still disappointed when they don't receive the main item they were hoping for…did I grow up in a time far too different to relate? I am having trouble understanding such nonsense over a holiday that isn't meant for gifts for oneself."

"Well Minerva, consider the fact they are living in far more peace than Grindelwald ever afforded us. Voldemort may be rising, yes, but his plans of destruction are far quieter and have a greater long-term impact overall. At the moment, I suspect he is hiding, biding his time until a more appropriate moment is reached, but in the meantime, we have such means to celebrate, Minerva! We have so much to be grateful for! Grindelwald, on the other hand, had the spotlight on him for most of his terrible tenure, what with collaborating with the Muggle Adolf Hitler in Germany behind Britain's very back. I believe Voldemort's reign will be rather similar, but in the meantime, we have peace, my dear. Do not fault the children for never having lived in true, terrible war."

Minerva nodded, a bit abashed. "I understand Albus. I was just so shocked at their excessive want…I did not grow up in the same way at all. I'm always very thankful for what I have because I'm well-aware I may not have it forever."

During his speech, Albus had inched nearer and nearer to her and finally close enough to do so, wrapped an arm around her comfortingly. "There is another secret, my dear," he spoke directly into her ear as if he truly were imparting a significant secret. "Though those around us may not fully understand the true meaning of Christmas, we can be aware of it in our hearts and our minds. We can create a Christmas of wonder anew for those who have none, or even be grateful for what we already have. You seem to have a good grasp on the meaning without needing any help from me, my dear. This…commercialism seems to cloud the view a little, like frost might on a windowpane, but rest assured that one can find Christmas if he truly looks for it. It often doesn't matter what gifts you give—it matters who you give them to."

After a time, Minerva sighed and Albus, understanding the message, released her and they both stood before the songbird's tree. For the first time that night, Minerva looked at him with a truly contented smile on her face; not merely mirroring his own or trying to find fault with him. He took this as a good sign. "Thank you," she breathed. "I should think…I should think this Christmas will be far better than the last. Thank you. Your advice is almost angelic in nature and as such is extremely valuable to me."

"My pleasure, Minerva," he intoned, happy he was able to cheer her up so well. "Why else do you think I am this way all the time? I am always thinking about other people…"

And not so much yourself, Minerva thought to herself, but she smiled anyway. "Yes I know. You're wonderful at what you do." And with that, she playfully tugged his beard, pecked him on the cheek, and walked the way she had come, leaving a heavily-blushing Albus standing dumbstruck in her wake.