Minerva McGonagall Receives a Surprise

December 1941

Minerva McGonagall walked along the corridor with Charles to their final Transfiguration class of the term, which in a few minutes would hold a class of ten other students. She noticed that some classes got considerably smaller at NEWT level, and Transfiguration was the smallest of all. Only twelve people in their year had managed to reach the standard required, and this gave Minerva a feeling of pride in herself at what she had accomplished. She was good, she didn't deny that. She knew it was a subject that she excelled in and she was on the verge of saying that she was brilliant, though never ventured that far, and absolutely never to anyone else. She was intelligent but she didn't sing her own praises for the world to hear; it was that slight difference between pride and vanity, a difference she took great care to be aware of.

The term had flown by for Minerva and her friends. Her prefect duties consumed a lot of her time at the beginning of the term but, as the first years settled in and term progressed, they had diminished somewhat. She had turned seventeen on October the forth and celebrated with a huge party in the Gryffindor tower, totally disregarding her prefect duties for that night… and a fair few hours into the morning. She smiled at the thought as she entered the classroom for the term's last transfiguration lesson.

It was a fulfilling lesson, and once again Minerva surpassed the rest of the students almost immediately, a feeling that was not unfamiliar to her. It gave her an extra boost when she knew it was in front of her favourite teacher, Albus Dumbledore; a man she admired for his intelligence and wisdom, his humour, his sincerity and his humility; the list, it seemed, was endless; he was everything that she aspired to be.

"Goodbye, Miss McGonagall," he said cheerily to her as she left the classroom behind Charles. She was always the last to leave as she usually found herself discussing the issues raised in class with her professor at the end of the lesson.

"'Bye, Professor."

"Oh, Miss McGonagall?" She heard him call back to her as she was just about to step over the threshold and into the corridor. She turned, eyebrows raised with curiosity, and awaited his reason for beckoning her back.

Dumbledore was sitting calmly perched on the edge of his desk facing the door, a tiny glint in both his eyes and a slight upward tug at the corners of his mouth. The unusual weary expression the students had witnessed at the beginning of term had faded rapidly and Dumbledore had quickly returned to his original appearance. His auburn hair and his beard which had grown just past his shoulders seemed to be glistening as the winter sunlight shone through the window onto his whole body. These sunbeams, which were the cause of the glitter and sparkle to his hair, produced a supreme glow that seemed to emanate from his robes. He spoke softly as he continued.

"I have a proposition for you." He paused seemingly thinking his words through carefully. Minerva waited. "I believe it would be prudent here to request that you not inquire about anything more than what I can be expected to tell you; in other words, I ask that you kindly not ask me the reasons for my proposals."

"Yes, sir," Minerva replied, eager to know what he was about to divulge to her.

"Very well then." He breathed deeply, and continued. "I would like you to teach some of my younger classes, namely my first and second years. For reasons that may or may not seem obvious, I am needed elsewhere for much of next term and simply cannot fit my, shall we say extra curricular activities into my school schedule. I realise this is a lot to ask a young student in her NEWT years, and so I will understand the reasons you would have for not accepting my proposition should you choose to do so."

Dumbledore spoke slowly and clearly, with an understanding that Minerva greatly appreciated. She paused for a few seconds before responding.

"Why have you decided upon me, sir?" she asked finally, but with butterflies in her stomach.

"A good question. Not because of your skill, Miss McGonagall, although I'm sure many will think so. I believe you to be the most capable and level-headed out of all my candidates, of whom there were three," he remarked, with a twinkle in his eye. "I also happen to believe that you particularly will take pleasure in the experience. Do not ask me why for I have no answer, just a firm confidence in my belief."

"And if I agree," Minerva began, "how do I start? I hope you're not suggesting I simply be thrown into a first year class alone and use my initiative, Professor."

"Oh good heavens, no." said Dumbledore with a little chortle. "I won't be dispensed with until a few weeks or a month into the term, so you can sit in with me while I teach and help around the class somewhat. Perhaps take over once in a while when I dash off for a much needed hot chocolate mid-class, so I do not have to worry that the students are trying to transfigure each other." He paused, and Minerva, watching Dumbledore's smile grow slightly, wondered if he was thinking back to a memory of such an act. He broke the short silence.

"You will always have someone who is a qualified teacher sitting in after I have departed, although that person will change from lesson to lesson due to the hectic timetables of all our teachers. I will be back in Hogwarts for part of each week to teach my other classes and I shall lend you my lesson plans and be a willing instructor. And pupil," he added as an afterthought. "For I am sure you will have advice to offer."

Minerva was shocked at his last statement but did not remark on it. During another pause with Minerva staring transfixed at absolutely nothing on the floor on the other side of the classroom, she vaguely noticed, or rather sensed, Dumbledore reaching into his pocket and pulling out a paper bag. He reached inside and, not for the first or the last time, tried to unstick two sherbet lemons. He waited patiently, giving Minerva time to organise her thoughts.

"What do you say, Miss McGonagall?" he asked quietly after a while. Minerva pulled herself from her thoughts and, having decided that she could manage on top of her schedule, gave him her answer.

"Excellent," came Dumbledore's response. "Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

x x x

January 1942

As much as Minerva adored seeing her family, the holidays had dragged by sluggishly. It seemed an age before she returned to Hogwarts and could embark on her new duties as teaching assistant. Over Christmas she had rifled avidly through her old Transfiguration notes, and thoroughly perused Emeric Switch's A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, familiarising herself with the standard expected of first and second year Hogwarts students.

Sally would be arriving back at school two days after the second term began, as she was visiting her brother who was still stationed in Dover. Minerva had been actively keeping herself up to date with the events of the muggle war and had recently been reading a lot about the terrible happenings that had occurred in early December at Pearl Harbour in America. It terrified her to known that her friend's brother was involved in this war, and as much as she knew that the wizarding world kept itself very strictly separate from the muggle world, she could not understand why they had not offered their services to the muggle authorities. This was a muggle war, she understood that, but surely the secrecy of the wizarding world was not worth the lives of millions?

Minerva thought back to Dumbledore. He was a wise and cognisant man. It seemed strange that he should be so indifferent to the muggle world. She reflected on the conversation she had had with him at the end of term and something suddenly fell into place. For reasons that may or may not seem obvious I am needed elsewhere next term. Was the muggle war what he was referring to? Is he offering his support? Are the wizard and muggle authorities collaborating to bring an end to the war? These questions and so many more were burning on her lips; questions, she remembered, Dumbledore had requested she not ask him.

Sitting with Blake and Charles in the Great Hall on the second morning of the new term, Minerva had just started her porridge when the owl post came soaring into the hall. The majority of heads in the hall looked up, eager to hear news from home, or read their Daily Prophets, or to open packages containing items left behind in the flurry of returning to Hogwarts. A dishevelled, windswept eagle owl almost fell into Minerva's porridge. If owls could gasp for breath, Minerva was sure that this one would be wheezing; it had clearly travelled an enormous distance. Minerva recognised the loopy writing immediately and glanced up at the staff table. Sure enough, the chair next to her headmaster that was occupied last night during dinner was now vacant. Frowning, Minerva glanced back to her letter and tore the seal. She unfolded the parchment and began to read.

Miss McGonagall,

I offer my profuse apologies for my absence so soon into the term. Certain events have transpired that will restrain me from escaping my location for a few days. I have set work for all my classes for this first week, so your services will not be required until my return when we will commence with our tutorage.

I do hope you enjoy your first week back.

Albus Dumbledore

Too intent on reading her letter, Minerva had not noticed the patiently waiting grey owl that was quietly sipping her pumpkin juice until Charles nudged her with his elbow and signalled at the owl with a quick movement of his head and eyebrow.

"Oh, that's Virgil!" exclaimed Minerva when she saw the owl move to Blake's bacon opposite her juice. "He's Sally's owl."

She took the letter that was attached to Virgil's leg, hurriedly opened it and read the limited scrawl of Sally's words.

"Minerva?" Blake asked after a few minutes silence, the last of which found Minerva staring blankly through the parchment in her hands, no longer reading the writing upon it. He cleared his throat and repeated himself. Minerva came out of her distracted condition and looked up at him.

"Sally's brother's been killed." She spoke as if in a trance, as Blake and Charles looked at her astonished.

"Shit," whispered Charles after a stunned pause, relocating his gaze to the empty chair opposite. None of them spoke for a few minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts of Sally and her brother. Minerva spoke up first, shaking herself from her contemplations.

"She says she's coming back on Thursday," she said, looking back at the brief letter.

"As soon as that?" Charles asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "That seems pretty hasty. She was really close to him. I'd have thought she would want more time."

"Maybe she wants to come back to get away from it all," Blake responded. "She won't have anything to do at home but think about him. At least at school she'll be distracted with NEWTS."

"I didn't think of it like that. You're probably right." Charles sighed sadly. "Poor Sally," he said. "Come on, Minerva, we're going to be late for Transfiguration."

"Oh... right," Minerva responded hurriedly putting Sally's letter in her bag.

The contents of the letter having forced all other thought from her mind, Minerva then remembered something she needed to tell Charles.

"Dumbledore's not here this week, so we have set work. And someone will be sitting in with us I think," she added, waving goodbye to Blake, grabbing her bag now containing both of her letters, and following Charles out of the hall. She would write a reply to Sally's letter with Blake and Charles at lunch. It was something she felt they needed to spend time on.

x x x

Sally arrived back at Hogwarts like she said she would on the Thursday, just before lunch. Dumbledore also arrived back that afternoon, much to Minerva's delight. She was looking forward to the lessons and hoped that Dumbledore would ask her about them again soon.

Everyone was indoors throughout the lunch break due to the ghastly weather that was filling the grounds with snow and ice. The biting wind was glacial and sharp, and it slashed at the students' hands and faces if they ventured into the grounds.

It was in this break that Minerva and her friends found themselves walking up the marble staircase on their way to the Gryffindor common room. Minerva was having an in-depth debate with Charles about the moral codes of human transfiguration, when she heard a deep, gentle voice call her name from the bottom of the steps. The four of them turned their heads in the direction of the voice and saw Dumbledore make his way serenely up the steps to meet them at the top.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she said with a small, friendly smile.

He nodded his head and smiled back, then turned to Sally.

"My condolences, Miss Aisling," he said tenderly. His smile had faded and a compassionate expression now quilted his features and travelled all the way to his kind eyes.

"Thank you, sir." Sally replied, tearing her eyes from his face and bowing her head slightly. Minerva could tell that she was doing her best to hold herself together in front of their professor, and took pity on her. Before the silence could persist into the realms of the uncomfortable, Dumbledore returned his attentions to Minerva.

"Miss McGonagall, would you be so kind as to come to my classroom in your next free period? I think I am correct in assuming that it is straight after the lunch hour?" Minerva replied in the affirmative to both questions. "Good, good. You need not bring anything other than your wand. I shall see you in forty minutes."

The group of friends once more began their walk to the common room after Dumbledore disappeared down a corridor. Charles wrapped his arm comfortingly around Sally's shoulders as he made several successful attempts to bring a smile to her face or make her laugh. Minerva saw him wipe Sally's last tear from her cheek as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Half an hour later Minerva left the Gryffindor tower with a nervous quivering launching itself around her stomach. As much as she was looking forward to this additional task, the closer she got to Dumbledore's classroom, the more she doubted her capabilities as assistant to the country's most established wizard.

Lifting her head and taking a deep, calming breath, Minerva knocked on the door of the Transfiguration classroom and unhurriedly pushed it open. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk and looked up as she clicked the door shut. His eyes fixed on hers as she stood at a halt in front of the door, and he peered intently at her. After a few moments, he spoke.

"Nervous, Miss McGonagall?" His deep, soothing voice sent her tense body into a tranquil state. It felt as though he had just performed some anti-anxiety magic merely with the tone of his voice. Perhaps he had, Minerva wondered, a small smile stealing onto her face as she made her way to his desk.

"Please," Dumbledore said, indicating a chair opposite him with a slight gesture of his hand. Minerva sat down, gaping disbelievingly at all the papers scattered on his desktop, and some, she noticed, suspended in mid-air around him.

"Miss McGonagall?" Dumbledore asked curiously, after seeing the expression on her face. She looked back to him.

"It seems that we work very differently, Professor," she remarked in her Scottish twang.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, understanding. Minerva knew he had noticed her precision in class, and also her overt irritability if someone was to rearrange her meticulously ordered notes. "It would seem that way. However, I know exactly where everything is in this apparently cluttered environment. And I must admit, Miss McGonagall, that I too get snappish if my belongings are rearranged or relocated."

Minerva looked down and smiled self-consciously at Dumbledore's patent knowledge of her habits.

"Shall we begin?" he asked.

They had been rifling through and discussing Dumbledore's second term first year notes for a little over an hour. Minerva had been making her own notes with Dumbledore's rather extravagant peacock feather quill. 'It's fabulous to write with though', she thought, as the nib sailed slickly across the parchment. However, she was beginning to become a little frustrated. At the sound of her irritated sigh, Dumbledore looked up only to see her squinting at her words on the page.

"Something the matter?" he asked with an amused smile.

Minerva looked up from her work with a maddened expression displayed on her face.

"I think I need glasses," she remarked exasperatedly.

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore nodded with appreciation and a familiar understanding. "A studious person such as yourself, reading fine print for hours in gloomy lighting is bound to eventually feel the necessity for such valuable annoyances. Let us add more light to this murky container we have placed ourselves in, shall we?"

With a swish of his wand, the flames in the lamps on the walls burst into renewed life, filling the classroom with a golden glow.

"Will that do for now?" Dumbledore added, seeming to empathise with Minerva, as her need for glasses appeared to be one he understood in minute detail.

"Thank you, sir, that's much better."

The couple set back to work again in a silence that continued for several minutes.

"I like your quill," Minerva said absentmindedly after a moment, still continuing to look down at the words forming on the page as she wrote.

"His name is Bert," Dumbledore replied, and he too continued with his notes. Minerva stopped writing mid-sentence and looked up with amused surprise.

"You named your quill?" she asked, her eyebrow raised and a small smile tugging up the corners of her mouth.

"One of my second years named him," he told her, now looking back with a matching smile that caused his eyes to glisten with amusement. Minerva waited for a moment and stared at her professor; then,

"Him?"

"Yes," he replied, as if this was an obvious truth. "Bert."

Not for the first time that night, Minerva delayed a moment before she spoke.

"Well then," she finally responded, "I like Bert."

"Then you may keep him," Dumbledore said, returning to his writing. "I have many peacock feather quills."

"Ah, Bert's brothers," Minerva stated mockingly. He looked up at her once more as she continued. "Do they have names too?" The sarcasm was extremely evident in her voice. Dumbledore's eyebrows rose as he stared at her over his half-moon spectacles, his eyes still sparkling jovially.

"Why, Miss McGonagall, I do believe you are teasing me," he said happily. "This is a rare occasion and one that I shall savour. People seldom tease a wizard who is supposed to be influential and serious. And apparently humourless," he added.

Minerva thought he sounded rather gloomy and regretful as he revealed this small piece of information about his life outside of teaching. But his smile remained, and he continued.

"Now then, I think we've covered enough for tonight. Come by on Monday, ten minutes before the first years have their lesson at eleven o'clock. When the lesson commences you may sit in whilst I teach the theory and then assist with the practical. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Very, sir," she answered, gathering her notes. "Thank you."

"Ah, no Miss McGonagall, it is I who should thank you," he said sincerely.

Minerva looked back at him and smiled, then turned to leave.

"Don't forget Bert," he said quietly from behind his desk.

Minerva turned and noticed that he had returned to his writing. He did not look up as she picked up the quill from its place in front of him, nor when she turned once more to the door whilst saying, "Goodbye, Professor." But she heard his response and smiled;

"Farewell. Take care of Bert or his brothers, Basil and Kelvin, will be most unhappy."

x x x

The next day was a chilly but pleasant one when Sally and Minerva walked through the Great Hall and out into the grounds after lunch. There was little breeze and the thin, grey layer of cloud became disconnected in places displaying the dull blue sky and the weak sun of the winter months. The two girls made their way across the huge scope of grass before them, talking as they walked.

"Can I talk to you, Minerva?" Sally said suddenly, sounding uncharacteristically nervous and serious.

"Of course," replied Minerva glancing at her friend. "Is everything all right? You look worried."

"No, no, I'm fine," she replied, again with an unusual amount of anxiety. "I have to ask you something, Min – erva," Sally added, seeing Minerva's sharp look.

"About your brother?" Minerva inquired.

"No, it's nothing like that. That's something I have to deal with myself."

Minerva stayed silent, allowing Sally time to gather her thoughts and articulate them.

"I know that you and Goddard are good friends and I know that you are not one to show your emotions on such thing so I thought I'd just better come out and ask. You spend a lot of time with Goddard and I was wondering whether or not you liked him more than a friend."

Minerva's brow crinkled and she turned to her friend. They had just reached the lake and had sat down by the edge, watching the water as the afternoon rays of a winter sun caused it to glitter. The ripples were small from a minute breeze, and the gentle noise of the splashing water against the banks was calming and pleasing to their ears.

"Charles is a great friend, Sally, but nothing has ever, or will ever happen between us. We just don't think of each other like that; it's simply never come up."

"Oh, ok," Sally replied. Minerva thought she seemed rather relieved and sensed that there was more to come.

"What's going on, Sally?" Minerva prodded, feeling that Sally needed encouragement.

"I just – really like him, Minerva." Minerva noticed Sally's worried expression as these words played upon her lips. Not worry for Minerva's reaction, but a concern of how her feelings would be made known to Charles, and that they might not be reciprocated.

"Sally," Minerva said, submerging the word in a small chuckle, "I've never seen you look so anxious. How long have you like him like this for?"

Sally thought for a moment before she replied.

"I can't put my finger on a specific time. Last term I just found myself thinking about him a lot more than usual and just realised gradually. Then I got scared; then I started watching him and saw that you two spent a lot of time together and I thought that if something had not happened already then there was a possibility that it soon might; then–"

"You should trust me enough to know that I would have told you if anything had actually happened between us," interrupted Minerva gently.

Sally looked rather sheepish at this.

"I know," she said, "I'm sorry."

Minerva smiled at her and they looked at each other, both thinking about the situation at hand.

"Has – has he ever said anything about me to you?" Sally asked, breaking the silence.

"Nothing specific," Minerva replied honestly. "He has mentioned you of course, as he mentions all his friends. But," she added seeing the sadness leak into Sally's features, "he is not the sort of person who would say something to anyone, let alone a mutual friend."

Sally did not smile at these words of comfort, and her expression remained troubled as she looked out across the lake, seeing nothing but the thoughts in her mind.

"Do you want me to say anything to him? Subtly, of course," Minerva inquired.

"No," Sally told her decidedly. "I don't think I could be around him after he says he doesn't feel the same way –"

"But you don't know he'll say that," said Minerva forcefully.

"No, but I've got a fifty-fifty chance and I'd rather not risk it; at least not until the end of school."

Minerva sighed through her nose in minor frustration. No matter what Sally said, Minerva was determined to see a conclusion to this flurry of emotion in Sally and decided that she would bring her into conversation a little more often with Charles to gauge his feelings towards her.

x x x

Minerva's first few lessons as assistant teacher flew by, but splendidly. Some of the second years had tried to catch her out, asking her difficult questions and not so subtly teasing her. But Minerva had been professional and intelligent throughout, reprimanding them when she needed to, and her often sharp responses had earned her a reputation as a tutor not to be crossed.

On the afternoon of the day Dumbledore was to leave Hogwarts on his undisclosed business, he had written to Minerva and asked her to come once more to his classroom to hear his informal evaluation of her teaching. Minerva sat at her usual spot, opposite him in a chair at the front of his desk, waiting for him to sign his name at the bottom of a letter he had been writing, and send it off on the leg of the same eagle owl with which she had received her letter from Dumbledore.

"There, Archibald," Dumbledore said to the owl. "As quick as possible, if you please."

As the owl soared out of the open window, Dumbledore turned to Minerva, who, all of a sudden, felt her nerves stir and her stomach quiver.

"Now, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore started with a smile, "as you know I am leaving tonight, so I feel that some support and encouragement are called for. It is at times unwise to praise a person who does not, in that moment, feel self-doubting; however, I think that in this case such praise is insisted upon. You feel your work is going well, am I right?"

Minerva simply nodded in acquiescence.

"Good," Dumbledore continued in the same merry tone. "I must tell you that it has made an enormous difference that you do not show any signs of nervousness when you, shall we say, rebuke your pupils. Your cold manner of doing such an act, though I feel I must add very different from your usual self, has terrified them far more that I had expected and not given them any ammunition to retort back, as it would have done if you had become flustered. You seem to have a natural gift with teaching, Miss McGonagall."

"Thank you, sir," Minerva replied, the surprise at such praise evident in her Scottish burr.

"No such thanks needed," Dumbledore replied, holding up a hand to impede further gratitude. "I am merely stating a fact." His eyes caught hers and he continued when she did not respond, "Are you comfortable, with the notes you have, to continue while I am away? Do let me know now if there is anything you wish to alter or raise questions about, or simply reflect upon. I am at your disposal for the next," Dumbledore looked at his watch, "half an hour."

Minerva thought for a moment, deciding whether or not to let Dumbledore know the one thing that had been bothering her since he had asked her to assist him last term. He was sitting patiently, waiting for Minerva to voice her thoughts. She thought he knew, or could at least sense what had been on her mind for some time, although he had never ventured to ask.

She looked into his soft face; his eyes, she noticed, had a grave heaviness that was sneaking its way around the merry twinkle which was still present. Minerva felt that both expressions were sincere, despite the contrast; the joviality was not a façade (even though it worked as one), but a sincere emotion which concealed the gravity of whatever was shaping Dumbledore's thoughts and reflections. She thought back to all of her intimate encounters with her professor and understood that the sobriety had always been present, and that she had now simply become aware of it through her increasing familiarity with him.

"There is one aspect I wish to ask your opinion of," Minerva stated tentatively.

Seeing Dumbledore nod his head in encouragement, she continued with more firmness and confidence.

"I've been thinking of what the student's attitude towards me may be once you're gone. You've been present in all of the classes and I imagine that their behaviour might change somewhat; be it because they do not hold the respect for me that they do for you, or simply because of the change to their lessons in your absence," she paused. Dumbledore was silent and Minerva was glad to see that he understood that she had not finished her explanation. "I'm not greatly worried," she continued, "because I think I've earn enough respect from them to teach and supervise with some authority. I just want to know what you think on the matter."

"You know, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore replied with the greatest sincerity, "I really have not given it much thought." Minerva's eyebrows shot up at hearing the unexpected response. "Ah, you misunderstand me," Dumbledore continued on seeing the astonished look transform her composed features. "I simply meant that I do not feel that this is an aspect that requires our attention purely because I have already seen in you the extraordinary ability to govern a class. I do not feel my lack of presence will inhibit you, or make the students any more disruptive than they are when I am there. Why, just the other day one of my third years thought it prudent to remind me of the smell of a Zonko's stink pellet. Naturally, I thanked him, and requested that he remind me again in a year's time - charming boy."

Minerva suppressed a chuckle, but did not manage to conceal her smile, as Dumbledore chortled at the memory.

"Honestly, Miss McGonagall," he said earnestly, "I would not trust anyone else with my students; at least not to any further extent than I trust you now."

Minerva was overwhelmed by this heartfelt statement and felt a rush of pride on hearing it. "Well," she spoke the word amidst a gush of air, quite beholden from his honesty. "I shall do my best to justify your trust in me."

She stepped out of Dumbledore's classroom a few minutes later with a renewed feeling of confidence and a tremendous desire to reinforce the words he spoke to her. She headed for the Gryffindor tower only to find the person she had been about to seek crawling his way out from behind the portrait of the Fat Lady, his broom clutched in his hand.

"Hi, Charles," greeted Minerva with a small smile.

"Hello, Minerva," he said smiling pleasantly back at her. "How was your meeting with Dumbledore?"

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "He was so generous in his compliments; the man is a genius at filling people with confidence."

"It went well then," Charles quipped.

Minerva glared at him in response to his jest and moved the topic along. "Quidditch practice?"

"Yeh, we're playing Slytherin in a week and Heather Redman is still recovering from our Ravenclaw game a fortnight ago. She got pummelled by those Beaters and she's lost her nerve and flinches every time a bludger come within ten metres of her."

The seventh year Gryffindor Heather Redman was the best Chaser their team had seen in a long time and Minerva remembered only too well that in the last match the Ravenclaw Beaters would not cease firing bludgers her way. She only managed to score twice in that match, even though twelve goals were scored by the Gryffindors; an unusual ratio for Heather, and she had to continually fly in zigzags to escape the relentless bludger attacks.

"I'll walk down with you," Minerva told Charles. "I could do with some fresh air."

They made their way through the castle and down the steps into the Entrance Hall before Minerva brought up her intended topic.

"Is Sally in the common room?"

"Yes," Charles answered with a perfectly normal lack of reaction. "She's doing the Herbology homework we did a couple of days ago." He smiled at this, then continued. "She always leaves it to the last minute. I've never understood that. It's her way I suppose."

Minerva mirrored his smile.

"She seems to work well under more pressure," Minerva said, then decided to take it a step further. "I heard Will Webber-Mason – you know the Hufflepuff in Transfiguration everyone calls Webson? – I heard he was going to ask her to Hogsmeade on our next visit."

Minerva watched Charles' reaction carefully and finally received one, barely perceptible, but there nonetheless. His jaw clenched and his eyes stared straight and unmoving; he did not smile or seem at all pleased upon hearing this news. It was true, however. In the first week of term before Sally had come back, Will had asked Minerva if Sally was seeing anyone and of course Minerva had replied with a negative response. He then inquired if she thought Sally would agree to go to Hogsmeade with him later that term. Minerva became frustrated at this and told him that she would not be a go-between and that he had to ask her himself.

"He's a bit peculiar, isn't he?" Charles said this as more of a statement than a question. "She'll probably say no," he added with assurance; possibly, Minerva thought, to convince himself.

"Probably," she replied simply, mainly to give him peace of mind.

It appeared to work. Seeming to feel rather more satisfied, Charles ceased his sharp stare into the distance and looked at Minerva who was watching him carefully. She had seen more than enough; there was definitely something there, even if Charles was unsure of it himself.

She lingered for a quarter of an hour or so at the Quidditch pitch because she had accepted Heather's offer to ride on her new Cleansweep Four. As Minerva left the pitch the rain started to fall quite heavily. She picked up thick branch from the nearby Forbidden Forest and transfigured it into an umbrella, rather pleased that she had managed to achieve the mauve colour she wanted and not the brown pattern of bark that most people would have produced – or rather kept.

Minerva enjoyed walking in the rain and so slowed her pace as she walked up the grounds towards the castle. It was dark now, and the lights from the windows looked warm and welcoming. She heaved open one of the entrance doors and slipped inside, shaking her umbrella and folding it closed as she did so.

"The work of a proficient, Miss McGonagall." Dumbledore's voice came sailing towards her, as pleasant as ever. He was dressed in a travelling cloak and was looking at the umbrella as Minerva turned it back into its true identity of the thick branch, threw it out of the large open door and then dragged the door closed.

"Hello again, Professor."

Dumbledore touched his hand to his hat in greeting and, after reaching for his wand and pointing it at the floor by Minerva's feet, he dried the hem of her robes which had become wet and heavy from walking through the grounds.

"Thank you," she responded. "Are you leaving now?"

"I am," replied Dumbledore. He took a few steps towards her. "Now," he continued, "Where did you throw that branch? Accio branch."

The branch came sailing through one of the open windows towards Dumbledore's outstretched hand. It landed firmly in his palm and his long fingers gripped it. He then performed the same spell as Minerva and transformed the branch back into an umbrella. This time however, the umbrella was lime green with images of life-size lemons covering the whole surface. Minerva's lips flickered into a small smile.

"All the best for your new classes, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore said as he strode out of the entrance doors and into the dark grounds.