In order to apologize for my unforgivable lack of updates, I give you this chapter! Please enjoy and forgive me! :)

Internal Lion

Poppy Pomfrey was in her office, doing paperwork. She, like all others at the school, had never spent an entire summer at Hogwarts, and hadn't been all that sure what to do with her time. So she had filled it with work, rather like Minerva. She knew that most of the others had done the same. This was the most paperwork-ready year the staff had ever had.

A tentative knock at the door made her look up. 'Come in,' she called, curious, for she knew that if it were Minerva or Pomona, or even Filius or Horace, they would have just walked right in. That made it either Connor, Trudy, Dumbledore, or Filch. She highly doubted the last.

The door opened, and Connor stood in the doorway. Poppy raised her eyebrows as she stood to greet him. 'Professor McKinley?' she questioned almost sternly. Although the two did not appear especially close during term, Poppy was fiercely loyal to Minerva, and was highly disapproving of Connor's actions of the night before.

'Madam Pomfrey,' Connor said politely. 'I was wondering if I might have a word?' Poppy nodded, gesturing towards the chair opposite her desk, where many a tearful students had sat, explaining how they'd ended up with deer's antlers or one too many limbs. Connor sank into the chair, ignorant of its history, with a thank-you.

Poppy was suddenly reminded of Minerva's warning that Connor could be rather bold one-on-one. Her eyes narrowed. Connor did not appear especially intimidated.

'I was looking for Trudy,' he began, 'but I can't seem to find her. I wonder if you could help me?'

'I'll certainly do my best,' Poppy replied briskly, cleaning parchments off her desk.

'I saw Professor McGonagall this morning,' Connor said carefully, watching Poppy closely. 'I am of course reluctant to discuss her or matters concerning her behind her back, but…' he trailed off.

'Yes?' Poppy prompted, expecting a reasonable excuse.

'I'm sorry to approach you like this,' Connor said, and he actually seemed truly remorseful. 'But I need your help, as a friend of Minerva's…this has to do with her.' Poppy raised her eyebrows. 'And myself,' Connor finally added. Poppy sighed. She normally refused to talk about anyone behind their back, especially Minerva, but she sensed that this might actually be doing her dear friend a favour.

'Perhaps we ought to move into my sitting room,' Poppy sighed, giving in.

'Thank you,' Connor said, relieved, his face shining with gratitude.

When the two had settled comfortably, and Poppy had offered Connor some tea, he finally began.

'I won't talk of my previous relationship with Minerva,' he said, cautiously, 'except to say that I gained a great of confidence and happiness from it. When Minerva ended it – and I'm not ashamed to say that it was her decision – I searched for excuses, reasons why she had done so. Anything but the truth, I suppose: that she simply did not love me anymore. If I'm being honest, I'll say that I had sensed her growing a little distant in the months leading up to the fight – did she tell you why we broke up?' At Poppy's quick nod, Connor continued.

'When I discovered that she worked here, I was so…enthralled.' Connor blushed a bit at the word, but Poppy admired his gut. 'I immediately envisioned the two of us together again; I was so confident that she would fall for me again. Her refusal…it was a slap in the face.' Here, his expression twisted before smoothing out in a rueful smile. 'This morning, Trudy came to see me, and I'll admit to being self-centered when she spoke to me – the very thing Minerva accused me of being, not only last night, but fifty years ago as well.' Poppy swallowed, maintaining silence.

'I just want to make sure,' Connor finally said, looking desperate, 'that there's absolutely no chance she'll consider me again…d'you think?' Connor looked so heart-broken Poppy wished she could give a different reply, but her friendship with Minerva prompted her next few words.

'Connor,' she said gently, 'I would very much advise you to leave Minerva alone, at least in that sense.' Connor's face fell, and he hung his head, looking like a little boy who'd just been told he couldn't have biscuits before dinner. 'Surely you know Minerva well enough to see that she never goes back on her decisions?' Connor swallowed.

'I must be in denial,' he joked weakly, and Poppy smiled, but braced herself for the next words she knew she must say. This was going to be harsh, she knew, but Minerva had said the same thing to Poppy, nearly word for word, the night before.

'There is no chance of the two of you again,' she told Connor as gently as she could. 'I'm sorry.' Connor closed his eyes for a moment before appearing to pull himself together.

'Thank you for your help, Poppy,' he said, rising quickly. 'I won't waste anymore of your time.' Before Poppy could say a word, he had left.

Poppy sighed and returned to her office. She glanced unwillingly at her desk, but sat down and picked up her quill, putting her encounter with Connor to the back of her mind.

Ten minutes later, Poppy gave it up as a bad job. She was unable to focus on her work, and so decided to go for a walk to stretch her legs. Perhaps she would run into Pomona or Filius, she mused. There had to be someone in this castle who could carry on a casual conversation.

Casual was a word not part of Minerva's current vocabulary. She was outside still, though her company had left her a good twenty minutes before. She had stopped just short of the front doors, from where she was originally headed, and paused. Her childhood, spent in northern Scotland, had thickened her blood to the point that students near her, bundled in cloaks, scarves, and hats, wondered at her as they hurried inside, the elevated wind whipping at their backs.

Minerva was a witch capable of balancing large amounts of responsibility without feeling the effects of stress. Indeed, for the past few years she'd been Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration teacher, Head of House and active member of the Order of the Phoenix. That she could handle well, even easily, so why was she only now feeling overwhelmed, when a good portion of her duties were not applicable?

'Ridiculous,' she muttered to herself. The sound her own voice shook her from her pensive state. Drawing herself to the present, she only then noticed the biting cold. Pulling her robes around her, she hurried inside.

Perhaps it was because she was dealing with situations directly involving her, Minerva mused. The Order, being deputy, teaching; all were duties in which others relied on her. Minerva was used to taking charge, having tasks thrust upon her; what she was not accustomed to was the sudden disarray her personal life was in.

Minerva reached her office and went inside. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she pulled a piece of parchment from her desk, took up her quill and ink, and wrote a list, entitling it Organization. The list included all of the reasons that she felt stressed and unprepared.

1. Connor McKinley desired a relationship.

2. He accused Albus of ruining his chances.

3. Albus was already sensitive to this fact.

4. Bran advises selfishness.

5. Albus' friendship is important.

After a slight hesitation, Minerva added more so than usual to the last item. Her self-conscious feelings negated the use of personal pronouns on her list.

Categorizing her feelings was a strategy Minerva often used, and while she knew it did not always entirely solve her problems, this was the first time it did not make her feel at least marginally better.

She sighed, charming the note so that only she could read it, then banishing it to her private adjacent rooms. Perhaps, she thought, Connor would come to his senses. Trudy, bless her sensible heart, could help with that, no doubt. The problem with Albus, she would have to deal with herself. It would be embarrassing, she thought, to have to state bluntly that she did not want Connor, nor any other man at the moment, but she was not a Gryffindor for nothing.

As to Bran's advised selfishness, well, really, what did he expect? Doing for herself was not something that came naturally to her, and Minerva was a good enough person not to want to try. Besides, she was a teacher, the very essence of which was helping others.

There was a knock on her office door. Minerva rose to her feet and opened it.

'Mr Peakes?' she asked, raising her eyebrows at the short, thick-set fifth year. Minerva knew he had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team this year, as he had for the past two.

'Professor,' Jimmy replied somewhat sheepishly as Minerva allowed him into her office. 'Um, well,' he hesitated, looking nervous. Minerva sighed to herself.

'I take it that this has to do with the glaring lack of your Transfiguration essay amidst the twenty others I collected on Friday?' she asked sharply. Jimmy, sitting in the chair opposite her desk, swallowed.

'I'm really sorry, Professor,' he said hurriedly. 'We had Quidditch practice on Thursday, and it went really late. Ginny's a great captain,' said Peakes hastily, 'but she's really determined. We all are,' he added, looking horrified at the thought that his Head of House might not think him sufficiently serious about Quidditch.

Minerva stood. 'I do not tolerate lateness in my class, Peakes,' she said severely. 'No excuses are to be made except for fatalities. And as you look in excellent health to me…'

'But, Professor,' Jimmy said desperately, 'our first match is this week! I've got to train!'

'I suggest that next time, you allow me the discretion of how much homework you ought to be doing,' Minerva suggested brusquely. 'I will take five points from Gryffindor.' Jimmy hung his head, defeated. 'I will give you until Monday to finish the essay, Peakes,' Minerva continued. Jimmy lifted his head, a look of hope dawning on his features. 'You will, I trust, have it finished by then, or I will remove you to detention.' Peakes nodded eagerly.

'Of course, Professor!' he said. 'Thank you!' Minerva nodded.

'I also expect a definitive lack of a repeat performance,' Minerva said briskly, walking around her desk and holding the door open for her students. Peakes nodded enthusiastically again and raced off down the corridor to start his essay – or so Minerva hoped.

Returning to her desk, Minerva almost summoned the list she had made to add Quidditch to it, but something stopped her. Quidditch could never be a burden, at least to her.

Minerva stood up and stretched with decidedly feline movements. She collected her wand and bag and exited the room, locking the door behind her with a wave of her wand. Her hair, though worn in a ponytail or thick plait during the summer, was twisted into a tight bun, and was beginning to give her a headache. A cup of tea in the staffroom would hopefully remedy that, along with a bit of luck.

Luck, it seemed, was not on Minerva's side today. The staffroom was depressingly empty but for two teachers: Trudy and Connor. Lovely. Having no choice now but to enter, Minerva strode to the back of the room where a table was set with a kettle, charmed to keep its water hot, and several tins with an assortment of drink powders. Minerva selected a tea bag of her favourite brand. While she waited for it to steep (she liked her tea strong) she set her bag down on the nearest armchair and removed her pointed hat.

Connor was studiously avoiding Minerva's gaze, but Trudy gave her an awkward smile. Minerva returned it slightly with somewhat more success, but turned back to her cup of tea, now ready, and sipped at it, relishing the warmth it spread through her body.

Perhaps it was the caffeine, but Minerva felt bold enough to take a seat in the armchair next to Trudy (though still a decent distance from Connor), pushing her bag over slightly to make room. She took another swallow of tea, feeling marginally better than she had upon arrival. Then, it happened.

A chain of events is a series of actions that are contiguous and associated with each other. When the events are positive, productive, and helpful, a chain of events proves to be a wonderful thing. When the actions are negative, counter-productive, and unhelpful, the chain is resultantly terrible, with unfortunate consequences for those involved. A chain of events also has three parts: the trigger, the middle, and the conclusion. The trigger is a deed that sets off the chain, so that the next follows without fail, never ceasing until the denouement. In this case the trigger was thus:

A house-elf, a cheerful one named Ferry, who serves the staff, fell ill. She was unable to serve the staff member whose beck and call she must answer to. This resulted in a certain teacher's depletion of their sherry stash, thus necessitating said teacher's descent from their lodgings to the staffroom. Then the door opened; Sybil Trelawney floated in as if on wheels; Minerva's good mood vanished.

'Good afternoon, my esteemed colleagues,' came Trelawney's misty voice, for which Minerva had less than no patience.

'Good afternoon, Sybil,' said the ever-cheerful Trudy. 'This is a pleasant surprise.' Minerva found this statement highly debatable, and bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying so.

'I was crystal ball gazing,' said Trelawney mysteriously, 'and saw, through my Inner Eye, something that can only be described as –.'

'The sherry's on the table, Sybil,' Minerva snapped, cutting ruthlessly into Trelawney's speech. 'Unless there was something else you wanted?' Minerva was personally slightly proud of the fact that it was only herself that could reduce Sybil's mysterious act to nothing more than irritation.

'Thank you, Minerva,' replied the Divination teacher frostily. 'I appreciate your sensitivity in such matters, especially those concerning my delicate Inner Eye.' Minerva raised her eyebrows. Sybil had resorted to sarcasm? Minerva was improving in her ability to annoy the fraud; she couldn't say she'd ever heard of the normally-aloof witch stoop to sarcasm. A slight clinking sound echoed throughout the room as Trelawney faced the table, her back to the others.

'My dear Trudy,' Sybil began again, once she had finished, obviously going out of her way to address Trudy specifically. 'I noticed you with some handsome man, why, it was only a week ago. He was tall in stature, with hair dark as the night, pale complexion, and features quite similar, but that I could not place. I took the liberty of reading the cards for you, and saw, to my dismay, that –.' Trudy glanced at Minerva, whose raised eyebrows indicated that she had indeed recognized the description.

'It was Professor McGonagall's brother, Sybil,' Trudy told Trelawney. 'Bran McGonagall. He works here on weekends; in fact, he's here today.' Did Trudy's cheeks appear slightly pink, or was it a trick of the light?

'Indeed?' said Trelawney, visibly affronted and obviously annoyed that the striking man was the sibling of Minerva. 'I suspect, then, that he may not be appreciative of the subtle art of Divination?'

'Why ever would you think that?' said Minerva dryly. 'Or are you merely assuming that my dear brother has possession, perhaps through genetics, of at least a modicum of common sense?' Trelawney rose to her full height, obviously angry, but her fury was only amusing as opposed to frightening.

'Minerva, you once again fail to sympathise with the fragile nature of Seers. I feel certain that if you had ever been capable of offspring, no potential Seer heritage could possibly have survived contact with your sceptical blood!'

'Thank Merlin for that,' Minerva replied back frostily, her eyes never leaving those of the Divination teacher.

With a sniff and a flounce, Sybil swept dramatically out of the room, though the effect was ruined slightly by the clanking of sherry bottles she hid in her robes.

There was a silence, broken moments later by Connor's quiet chuckling. Minerva relaxed, surprised that Connor could make her feel anything but tense.

'Trudy,' Minerva said to the Muggle Studies teacher, 'your patience is endless.' Trudy smiled, and Minerva hoped that she had not disgraced herself in Trudy's eyes.

'I daresay it'll run out after a few years,' Trudy replied with a smile.

'Mine certainly has,' Minerva said, finishing off her tea. 'I didn't realize you saw Bran last weekend,' she commented, merely as a conversation piece.

To her surprise, Trudy flushed slightly, and Connor laughed. Minerva's eyebrows raised of their own accord as she looked from one to the other, stopping on Connor, as he seemed the most likely to provide information. Connor, being male, did not notice Trudy's vain attempts at a subtle shaking of the head to discourage him from whatever he was about to say.

'Trudy's rather fond of your brother,' Connor said with a grin to Minerva. 'A bit more than you think, I'd reckon.' Trudy looked torn between wanting to hit her cousin, dying from embarrassment, and fleeing the room. She compromised by throwing Connor a violent glare and avoiding Minerva's gaze as she blushed. Minerva swallowed.

All teachers needed to be rather good actors; the two skills simply went hand in hand. Minerva was rather practiced at it, but this, as she later called it, was her finest moment.

'Really?' she said, with a slight smile. 'I can't say I noticed before. He is charming, isn't he?' Trudy looked up, awkward but grateful, though clearly wishing to be left alone with Connor.

'Well, I just came for some tea,' Minerva said, standing, 'so I'll be off now. See you at dinner.' She left, closing the door behind her. From inside the room came the faint sounds of someone getting hit repeatedly with a pillow.

Alone in her rooms, Minerva took her list of reasons she was stressed and stared at it for a moment. Then, very calmly, she placed it in the middle of the floor and drew her wand. A quick flick, and the parchment was on fire.

She felt like screaming.

Dumbledore hummed cheerfully to himself as he strode along the corridor. He smiled at students he passed, greeting everyone with his customary smile and twinkling eyes. Honestly, however, he was outwardly more cheerful that he felt.

He was not, he knew, sad or angry. No, the word that came to mind was conflicted. He'd felt angry, a sentiment he rarely truly experienced, when Connor had verbally assaulted Minerva the night before. Minerva was more than capable of fighting her own battles, of asserting her independence. During her cold speech to Connor, she had looked impressive: tall, regal, and confident. But afterwards, she had glanced at Albus almost fearfully.

Upon reflection, it wasn't particularly difficult to see why, though the reason still baffled Albus. When Minerva had forced him, over the summer, to promise that he would not allow a man to come between them, she had looked almost anxious. When Connor had done nothing more than to occasionally ask her out, she had relaxed, that much he could see. Then Connor had specifically accused Albus of having an affair with Minerva, and Minerva had looked frightened.

So, Albus concluded, their relationship was much more important to her than he had originally realized. He knew, of course, how much their relationship meant to him, but apparently he'd slightly underestimated on how much he meant to her. He felt arrogant admitting it, but he knew it to be true.

Albus heard voices around the corner and perked up upon hearing a familiar Scottish brogue.

'No, Miss Langley, a problem with your boyfriend does not constitute a legitimate reason for not doing your homework for the second week in a row,' came Minerva's exasperated voice. 'If you badger me one more time about it, I shall add to your week's detention.'

A young girl with fly-away blonde hair flew around the corner, so agitated she did not see the Headmaster as she fled past him. Albus, knowing Minerva was under a good deal of personal stress at the moment, hurried to the corner, and encountered a very irritated deputy.

'Professor McGonagall,' he greeted her formally, aware that there might be students about. She looked up, and he was startled to see how tired she was. She hadn't looked this drawn and thin in years.

'Headmaster,' she replied, somewhat stiffly. He doubted it had to with him, but rather irritation with everyone in general.

'I spoke with the Governors this morning,' he told her. 'They agreed to review the budget for any, ah, mistakes they may have made the first time.' He knew Minerva had been incensed that the school governors had cut their budget, leaving behind little room for emergency necessities.

'Good, thank you,' she replied shortly. Goodness, she really was exhausted.

A quick glance around showed there to be no students. 'Minerva, my dear, are you alright? You look utterly done in –.'

'I'm fine, Albus!' Minerva exploded. 'Stop asking! I've got quite enough to deal with without you badgering me! Leave me deal, please! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!' she shouted. 'Why must you always interfere? This has nothing to do with you! Leave me be!' Then she stopped, shocked, breathing heavily as they stared at each other.

'Of course, Minerva, I apologize. Have a lovely day, my dear.' With a small, very forced smile and a slight inclination of his head, Albus left, feeling older than he had in years.

Professor Sprout was striding along the corridors. She'd gone to the Headmaster's office to tell him that the new order of dragon manure had arrived, but he hadn't been there. As she passed Minerva's rooms, she decided to stop by and see her friend. They hadn't chatted in a while.

As had become custom decades ago when the two witches had become good friends, Pomona did not bother knocking, but simply entered Minerva's sitting room.

'Minerva?' she called, 'Minerva, are you –.' Pomona stopped. Minerva was sitting on the couch, face in her hands.

'Minerva, are you alright?' Pomona hurried forwards, nearly tripping over the coffee table as she sat next to her friend. She put a hand on Minerva's shoulder and was utterly shocked to find it shaking. 'Dear Minerva – what's happened?'

Minerva raised her head, looking devastated, her chest heaving with hyperventilation. She could not slow her breathing to speak.

'It's alright, Minerva,' Pomona said soothingly, rubbing the witch's shoulder. 'Calm down, love, everything is fine.' It was rare that Minerva ever had need of comfort, but it was obvious that she needed it now. It was a few minutes before Minerva was able to speak.

'Oh, Pomona, it was – it was terrible,' Minerva gasped. 'I can't believe – gods, I was so – so awful…' Pomona continued to rub Minerva's shoulder comfortingly, letting her tell the story without interruption.

'Is it Albus?' Pomona asked gently. Minerva nodded, and, to Pomona's thorough shock, started weeping, tears streaming down her face.

'He was so kind, Pomona – so gentle,' Minerva sobbed. 'I was a complete bitch to him.' She gasped again, still crying. Pomona stared. She never, ever, heard Minerva say that word before. 'He just asked if I was – feeling alright, I look so terrible. Thin and – and tired.' Pomona shook her head, but did not interrupt.

'I was horrible,' Minerva wept. 'Shouted at him, completely exploded. God, if he never speaks to me again, I'll have deserved it – and worse!' Pomona sighed, moving her hand in slow circles on Minerva's back.

'Minerva, listen to me, please,' she requested softly. Minerva wiped her face with the hem of her robe and quieted. 'Minerva, darling, I won't pretend that that what you said didn't hurt Dumbledore. But it's the truth that he will forgive you. He probably already has.' Minerva nodded, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes.

'I think that you should tell me why you behaved so,' Pomona told Minerva gently. 'I'm afraid I don't fully understand.' Minerva actually gave a small laugh, albeit a wet one.

'I don't either,' she confessed. 'It might be…well, I don't know.'

Pomona hesitated. 'I think it's easier to hurt the ones that are closest to you,' she said. Minerva gave a half-laugh, half-sob, and nodded.

'Why is that?' she muttered, pulling her hair down to redo it, but not really expecting an answer.

'Maybe because you know they'll always love you,' Pomona said quietly. Minerva froze, her hair down about her shoulders, staring at her friend in shock.

'Pomona…' Sprout smiled at Minerva. 'You can't possibly mean…' Minerva trailed off.

'You can't tell me you don't love him, Minerva,' Pomona prodded. 'It's rather obvious, isn't it?' Minerva said nothing, and Pomona could see that she was thinking.

Was that it? Could that be the reason Albus' friendship was suddenly so important? Connor's arrival had made for more tension than Minerva had ever felt between two people – but it couldn't possibly be romantic tension, could it?

Minerva, in a very rare gesture, put her arms around Pomona and kissed her cheek. Pomona accepted the motion with a fond smile and returned it. 'Minerva, you know that anytime you need to talk, I'm here for you.'

It hadn't been a question, but Minerva replied anyway, rapidly regaining her usual brisk manner. 'I do now,' she replied, standing. 'Thank you, Pomona, for everything. I think.' Pomona laughed and rose to her feet as well.

'Where are you going?' she asked as Minerva fixed her hair and headed for the door.

Minerva looked back. 'To see Albus,' she said after a moment. 'To apologize.'

After all, she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

TBC

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