Minerva groaned. Her head hurt. A lot. She opened one eye and quickly squeezed it shut again when the sun poked one sharp finger in it. Strange: she didn't remember being clubbed in the head by a troll but she imagined that this was exactly how it would feel. She risked opening her eyes again, just a tiny bit and saw that she was in the infirmary but when she tried to recall why it only made her head thump harder.

'Hello?' she called, wincing and closing her eyes again. She heard footsteps on the tiled floor.

'Ah, you're awake then.' She opened her eyes to see Madam Hopkins waving a wand over her head.

'What happened?' she rasped.

'You tell me. Professor Dumbledore found you passed out in the courtyard - at three o'clock in the morning, I might add,' she added, giving her a stern look of disapproval. 'Still hurt, does it?'

'Mmm.' She dare not nod incase her head rolled off.

'To be expected,' harrumphed the old witch, as though she deserved nothing less for breaking school rules, reading from the piece of parchment her wand had issued. 'Swelling's gone down but it'll be tender for a few days. Drink this.' She pulled a small phial out of her apron pocket.

Minerva swallowed the thick purple liquid with a grimace of disgust. It did however dissolve the pain from her throbbing temples. 'Thank-you.'

Hopkins nodded shortly, banishing the parchment with a tap of her wand. 'So, what were you doing out there?' She was a short, plump figure with steely grey hair pinned into a strict no-nonsense bun who might have looked motherly were it not for the fierce glare that was a permanent fixture on her wizened face.

'No idea,' said Minerva, swallowing involuntarily under her disbelieving glower. 'I can't remember anything after dinner last night.'

The matron harrumphed again, giving her a shrewd look. 'It isn't uncommon for short term memory loss to occur with this sort of head injury,' she admitted grudgingly. This Minerva already knew after an unfortunate incident with a bludger in a third year Quidditch match against Slytherin; then too she'd woken up in the Hospital Wing with no recollection of how she came to be there. She realised that she hadn't been listening to a word the nurse had been saying and tuned back in as she turned away, not seeming to notice her inattentive audience, '…parked outside my infirmary since this morning. Best let 'em in before someone trips over them.' She shuffled down the ward, opening the double doors. 'You've got quarter of an hour,' she informed Persephone and Maureen as they trooped in, 'not a minute longer.'

Mo stuck her tongue out at the old witches retreating back, dragging a second chair over from the neighbouring bed to sit beside Sephy. 'What have you been up to now?'

'You had us worried sick,' Persephone chastised sternly. Anyone would have thought Minerva had done it on purpose.

'Ow,' Minerva protested at Sephy's sharp prod in the ribs. 'Watch it!' she rebuked, pulling herself into a sitting position against pillows so starched that they crinkled like newspaper.

'So?' asked Mo, ignoring the indignant glare Minerva was shooting her partner in crime.

'What happened?' seconded Sephy, also ignoring Minerva's ire.

Minerva frowned, searching for the memory but coming up empty. She shrugged, 'Last thing I remember is leaving dinner last night.'

'Dumbledore said he found you outside,' prompted Mo, clearly dissatisfied with the woefully inadequate answer.

'Wonder what he was doing out at that time…' mused Minerva.

Persephone and Mo exchanged nervous glances. 'Well, you see, we were worried when you didn't come back-'

'It was Mo's idea to tell him!' interjected Persephone quickly and Mo shot her a murderous look.

'It was two o'clock in the morning!' she said defensively, looking anxiously at Minerva. 'And I know what you're like, Min … I'm really sorry if I got you in trouble.'

Minerva shook her head, 'Don't worry about it, I don't even know if I should be in trouble.'

'Weird though, no one finding you sooner, I mean. You must have been out there a while.'

Mo glanced at Sephy. 'Didn't think to look outside, did we?'

Minerva gave them incredulous looks. 'You came looking for me?'

'Well we weren't gonna dob you in to Dumbledore without looking for you ourselves first, were we?'

'So you decided to go creeping around the castle after hours?' she asked with the air of a long suffering guardian.

Maureen rolled her eyes, 'Sometimes you have to break a few rules. Anyway, Dumbledore didn't tell us off so why should you?'

Minerva was about to open her mouth to retort when a tawny owl swooped in through the window, landing neatly on the bed's headboard and surveying them all magisterially with wide yellow eyes.

'Hello,' Sephy raised an eyebrow, a sly grin on her face, 'what have we got here then?'

The owl blinked slowly at her as if to say 'I don't see your name on it', sticking out a leg, to which was attached a note and long thin parcel. It was the parcel which had provoked a reaction in Persephone, being as it had the Hosmeade florist's logo on it. Minerva looked mutely between the bird, Sephy and Mo, consternated. 'Well, are you gonna take it or wait until the owl loses its balance?' asked Mo, burning with curiosity.

Minerva's fingers fumbled over the ribbon, finally pulling the box, roughly a foot and a half long, and missive loose. 'There's no name,' she said, turning the paper over in her hand. There again was embossed 'Madam Flora's Fabulous Flowers'.

'What's it say?'

She read the neatly printed words out loud, '"Wish I was there"...'

'Not exactly Shakespeare, is it?' Persephone commented as Minerva pulled the ribbon from the box and lifted the lid off. Inside was a single long-stemmed rose changing colour before her eyes; red, purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, red…

'Ooh, pretty,' cooed Mo with a little clap. 'Looks like you've got a secret admirer, Min.'

Sephy tugged the bit of parchment out of her hand, 'Don't recognise the handwriting. Wonder who sent it..?'

The corridors were almost deserted when Minerva was let out of the infirmary that evening; most of the school were in the Great Hall enjoying dinner but the potion she'd been taking throughout the day had left her with no small amount of nausea and so she was heading back to the common room instead.

A couple of the sixth year prefects had stopped by in the afternoon to see her with more chocolate frogs than she'd be able to eat in a week and the Head Boy had also gifted her with her favourite biscuits, Ginger Newts. She'd blushed profusely whilst explaining how she'd come to be in the infirmary in the first place. 'Must have been a loose slab,' he'd said in her defence, not quite managing to stifle a laugh. She was disappointed though when her Transfiguration Professor was not one of the dozen visitors to her hospital bedside.

She yawned as she passed the portrait of Edgar Gomadd on the third floor. Despite having snoozed most of the morning away she felt as though she hadn't slept in a week and her head was beginning to throb again. She stopped to rummage in her bag for the bottle of potion Madame Hopkins had given her, leaning against a tapestry. She was surprised when she felt not solid wall but thin air behind it. She barely had time to swear loudly before colliding with something quite solid on the other side, which obligingly prevented her from hitting the floor. She caught the briefest glimpse of auburn hair before the tapestry fell back into place, cutting off the only source of light. 'Professor Dumbledore,' she gasped, as he arranged her on her feet again. Two trips in twenty-four hours, her equilibrium was failing her. 'Nice catch. Thanks,' she said as several torches along the walls burst into flame.

His eyes twinkled, a hand still on her arm which was tingling at the touch. 'Glad to be of assistance,' he smiled. 'How's the head?'

'Still on my shoulders,' she nodded and winced. 'I can tell by the pounding.'

He frowned at this, turning her face up towards him and peering at her in some concern. 'Maybe you should go back to the infirmary.'

'No!' she answered quickly and he dropped his hand back to his side. 'No, I'm fine, really, and Madame Hopkins gave me a potion – I was about to take some when I fell through the wall.' She began to search her bag again, finally procuring the foul purple concoction. 'Bottoms up,' she grimaced, taking a mouthful.

'Pesky things, walls,' he mused, smiling at the look of disgust on her face. 'Better?'

'Much,' she agreed, stoppering the bottle and replacing it in her bag. She looked up at him, a playful glint in her eye. 'So what are you doing lurking in hidden passage-ways?'

'As a matter of fact I was on my way to find you to see that you were recovering. You had me quite worried for a moment there,' he admitted. 'I couldn't stay too long last night: Misses Maldoran and Delaney were waiting for news.'

'Yeah, they were in the infirmary about thirty seconds after I came round this morning. Couldn't tell them much – I haven't got a clue what happened myself.'

'Ah,' he looked discomforted for a moment, 'about that –'

But whatever it was 'about that' she never found out as they heard several students making their way up the stairs on the other side of the tapestry and he broke off, casting a wary glance towards the buoyant voices. 'I should go. Come and see me tomorrow if you can?'

She nodded, 'Of course,' shivering a little when he briefly squeezed her hand.

His gaze travelled over her face for a moment, as if once again reassuring himself that she was well. She was paler than usual, her eyes a little dimmer than he was used to but that was to be expected and nothing, he hoped, that a good night's sleep wouldn't cure. He smiled. 'Goodnight, Minerva.'

And with that he was gone, leaving a slightly baffled Miss McGonagall in his wake.

It had been torture for Albus. He couldn't sit at her bedside, as he'd wanted to, for that would have drawn too much attention. He hadn't eaten a morsel all day and several times he'd settled himself down to mark papers only to find that he couldn't concentrate. He was still surprised – and grateful - he'd managed to get her down the stairs without anyone noticing. From the entrance hall he could claim he was coming in from outside. Of course he'd had to cool her down, it would have been difficult to claim she'd been outside for hours when she was understandably toasty from being curled up in bed with him.

After waking Madame Hopkins, he'd stayed only long enough to reassure himself that she was in no immediate danger – as any head of house would have done - before heading up to Gryffindor Tower where he'd found the two girls still awake, curled up in armchairs before a cold fireplace. 'Have you found her?'

'Is she okay?' asked Persephone, jumping to her feet, wide-eyed and whey faced. Any number of terrible scenarios had been running through her mind in the hour since they'd been to see Dumbledore.

'She's in the hospital wing, she's going to be fine,' he added at Maureen's gasp. 'It looks like she hit her head.'

'Where was she?' they asked as one.

'Outside. Perhaps she went out for some air and slipped. You'll have to ask her yourselves tomorrow. For tonight, I suggest you get some sleep.'

Of course they hadn't been happy with that, had wanted to go down to the infirmary right there and then, but he'd politely reminded them that Madame Hopkins might not take too kindly to having her ward invaded in the middle of the night and they'd grudgingly agreed.

It was almost five in the morning before he got back to bed but he couldn't sleep. He'd lifted her forgotten book from the bedside table and read it cover to cover in under an hour. She'd been right – it was duller than Professor Binns' classes – and on any other night it probably would've put him to sleep. So tonight, finally having seen Minerva was up and about and okay, it was with great relief that he crawled under the covers and sighed.

He rolled over, head cradled between the pillows, and could smell Minerva's perfume on the sheets. He felt a pang of loss and realised that he missed her, missed her warm body sleeping next to his, and it scared him more than he cared to admit. He was falling. Before he might have passed it off as infatuation but it was dawning on him that it might be more than that, that this girl, barely more than a child, had succeeded where countless women had failed in ensnaring his heart. God help me, he thought. I can't help myself.

Minerva had spent most of Sunday finishing homework she hadn't managed to complete during the week, skipping lunch altogether in favour of handing in her Arithmancy essay on time, and wondering how she'd fallen so far behind. Her brain was still feeling a little fuzzy and, even as she tucked her things back into her bag, she knew the work wasn't up to her usual standard. Still (though she'd never openly admit it) she'd rather have a few pieces of substandard homework than another of the roaring headaches she'd been suffering for the past twenty-four hours.

'Where are you sneaking off to?' asked Persephone, bent over her own Arithmancy essay with several textbooks spread out on the table before her.

'I'm not sneaking, I've just got to get some books out of the library before it closes.' Of course she really didn't have any intention of going to the library but they didn't need to know that.

'I'll come with you,' volunteered Mo. The two of them hadn't left her side since she'd woken up and it was beginning to annoy her, no matter how many times she told herself that they were just looking out for her.

'I think I can find my way,' she assured her. 'And you still haven't finished your potions essay,' she chastised with a small smile, knowing how often Maureen would find any excuse not to give her attention to her least favourite subject. 'I won't be long.'

'You'd better not be,' warned Persephone, 'I don't fancy putting together another search team.'

Minerva rolled her eyes and saluted obediently before pushing the portrait door open and almost flattening a pair of first years on the other side. They scurried out of her path, near quaking in their boots. 'Poor little mites,' she thought. 'Am I really that intimidating?'

This theory was almost immediately disproved when someone shouted, 'Oi, McGonagall!' from the landing below. Peering over the banister she saw Ian Rafferty coming up the stairs and prayed for patience. A typical Slytherin, his hailing her could mean nothing good. Swallowing the urge to just hex him and have done with it, she slipped into the well-practiced role of Prefect, arranging her face into as neutral an expression as possible.

'Something I can do for you, Rafferty?'

He looked positively delighted about something. 'Is it true?' he asked, gleefully. 'You slipped and knocked yourself out?'

She glared at him, not wanting to admit that she had no clue what had happened.

'I'll take that as a yes,' he said smugly. 'Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person,' he concluded, sauntering back down the stairs with an air of maddening superiority. She fingered her wand longingly, she could still get him from here and wouldn't she love to show him that under all that arrogance he didn't have half the magical ability that she did. He wouldn't stand a chance in a fair duel … but no. As Head Girl it wouldn't set a good example to the rest of the school if she started turning Slytherins into toads simply because they annoyed her so she watched him until he was out of sight, counting softly to ten under her breath. She sighed. One of these days.

She released the wand in her pocket and continued down to the next level, stopping outside Professor Dumbledore's door, unaccountably nervous as she knocked. It was a few moments before he answered, welcoming her in with a sweep of his blue-robed arm. 'Can I get you a drink?' he asked after seating her on the long red settee.

'Tea, please,' she accepted even as a tea-tray appeared on the coffee table. He took the seat beside her, pouring them both a cup. 'No sugar,' she added when he reached for the small bowl of sugar cubes.

'Right you are,' he nodded, helping himself to three lumps, dropping them into his cup with a soft 'plop'. 'I trust you are feeling better today?' he enquired, sitting back in his seat, one arm resting along the top of the sofa.

'Much,' she answered softly, slightly lost in the unmasked affection in his eyes.

'I'm sorry I didn't come to see you yesterday,' he apologised again. 'Did you like the rose?'

She had indeed like the rose which was even now sitting in a vase on her bedside table. 'It was from you?' she blushed, looking down at the tea in her hands. 'Yes, it was lovely.'

'I can see how you might have speculated upon the sender, you must have many admirers.' Was that jealousy? She wondered, noticing the way his expression darkened momentarily.

'If I didn't know better I'd think you were jealous,' she said, voicing her thoughts, heart pounding beneath her playful exterior.

'Can you blame me?' he asked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. 'I am an old man compared to the other gentlemen of your acquaintance.'

She placed her cup and saucer back on the table for fear she would pour the contents into her lap before long, her stomach giving a little leap when he mirrored her actions, resting back a little closer than before. Did this mean what she thought it meant? She'd never dared dream that he would return the feelings she had for him and yet everything he'd done since yesterday seemed to suggest that he did. He'd been jealous of the boys in her year, as if they could ever compare! There'd been no competition to Albus Dumbledore in Minerva's affections for almost a year now.

She raised a hand to caress his face, sidling closer until their knees touched. Her eyes flickered between his eyes and mouth, wondering if she dared … before she could make a decision he had leaned down, capturing her lips. His lips brushed over hers so tenderly that her stomach did another little flip, surely upsetting the butterflies fluttering madly in there.

She was positive she had a silly grin on her face when they parted, the only words coming to mind being, 'That was nice.'

'Indeed,' he agreed, not quite managing to suppress his own smile. She was infectious. 'But we have to learn to be more cautious, Minerva. It was a close thing Friday night.'

She frowned in bemusement, 'I don't follow.'

'I can rectify that momentarily,' he assured her, pulling out his wand. 'Close your eyes and try to relax. Clear your mind.' She shot him a skeptical look but sighed and complied at his patiently expectant half-smile. She felt the brush of his wand at her temple as he murmured, 'Recreare memoria.'

She opened her eyes again, looking at him blankly. 'Are you going to tell me what's going on? What was that supposed to accomplish?'

'You don't remember?' he asked.

She shook her head, a shadow of trepidation crossing her face as she shifted back on the sofa away from him. Her headache was coming back. She held up a hand, frowning again. 'Are you telling me that I was with you Friday night?' she asked, even more perplexed than before.

'I don't understand,' he grimaced. 'That spell should have restored your memory.'

'At three o'clock in the morning?'

'Yes.'

'I was here at three o'clock in the morning?' she asked again.

'Yes.'

'With you?'

He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. 'Yes…'

Minerva lay a trembling hand over her eyes. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to her next question and yet she had to ask it. 'Doing what? Exactly?'

'Exactly?' he repeated, his cheeks reddening somewhat, 'Uh, sleeping,' he answered truthfully. He didn't want to say 'amongst other things' but she seemed to get the implication well enough without it. 'You seem surprised,' he noted, looking at her apprehensively.

'Well of course I'm bloody surprised! I don't make a habit of sleeping with my professors, professor!' she shot back shrilly, face burning. How could she have been here, with him, for what sounded like half the night without remembering it? Her fantasies of just such an occurrence had always been very memorable.

'That's not what I – Minerva,' he shook his head, at a loss for words. She got to her feet, walking a few paces away before turning back with a mingled look of anger and confusion. Albus leaned forwards, trying to explain, 'Minerva, we've been seeing each other for weeks…'

'Weeks?' she squeaked in a voice most unlike her own. She sank down into the nearest armchair in dazed horror. Weeks? She - Minerva McGonagall - had been having an illicit affair with her Transfiguration Professor for weeks and she had no recollection of it? It was beyond impossible it was … was – was outrageous! She would KNOW if she'd been doing … that. Her head felt as though it was spinning on her shoulders.

It had to be said that Albus was doing little better. 'You don't remember?' he croaked. 'Any of it?'

She opened and closed her mouth several times to answer but seemed to have been rendered temporarily mute. Remember it? Only in her dreams… Finally she shook her head.

Albus closed his eyes, dropping his head into his hands. 'Oh Merlin, what have I done?'