Chapter Thirteen: Familiarity

"How long do you suppose it will be before he notices?" Rudy asked with curiosity from the inside of Albus's new office with crossed arms.

Albus didn't bother to turn around as he slid the curtain sleeve through the pole. He found it almost humorous, the lack of attention that this seemed to be receiving. Oh well. "Weeks. Armando has the Board of Governors to entertain this week-end and then he'll be starting preparations for his attempt at a social. I'd wager a month before he even leaves his office and longer than that before he bothers to look for me outside of a meeting."

"And your plan for the adjoining room?"

"Just a study," the man shrugged passively. "I'm not planning on sharing that bit with him. I'll block off the corridor entrance and make a veil between this room and the stairs. It will be as if it doesn't exist."

Rudy walked casually over to the empty doorway and peeked in the empty room. His head popped back out again moments later. "Big secret, eh?"

Albus's lips shifted upward as he patted the curtains with glee. "The biggest secret," he nodded and turned towards Rudy. "I know it sounds a bit queer," he clicked his tongue, "but all of this redecorating has lifted my spirits. I just don't want to go back that way again."

Rudy tried to put on a casual expression the way that he did while in search of information. He was not always the subtlest, especially for a Slytherin. "Course you'd be the one to get a thrill from secret-keeping. I don't know why you haven't gone out to be a spy."

"It's not as though it hasn't been requested," he stated as he turned around again to the armchair and grabbed the small rug. He continued speaking as he threw it down and moved the chair over it. They would not be chatting about that. "But we've beaten that horse dead seven times over, now. I have decided to just accept it and avoid our righteous Headmaster."

Rudy chuckled, "Self-righteous, yes."

"Yes. That was implied."

Albus stepped back and looked at his work, then spun around to Rudy. "Looks like an office, doesn't it?"

"I should say so, yes. You're leaving your radio by the armchair?"

"Where else would I put it?"

"You could always put it in this other room you're working on."

"I'll put a record player in there," Albus nodded. "This place needs some music."

"Indeed." The man paused briefly. "Speaking of music, any chance you'd be interested in sneaking out to Hogsmeade after dinner? I need a drink something awful and Cora has resigned herself to staying in; school night and all that."

Albus blinked. It didn't seem at all like he was shirking his fatherly duties, did it? He shook away the thought. He was no one to judge. The man was glad to have a real excuse, in all verity, anyway. "I would have liked to," he shrugged, "But I have an animagus lesson to supervise."

"Right, right," Rudy nodded. "How long have those been lasting?"

He licked his lips. He wasn't interested. "We've only had one or two that didn't end in disaster. It's hard to tell. Maybe as many as three hours."

Rudy looked puzzled. "Three hours?"

"I just would rather not plan an adventure should things go wrong again. That's all."

"You expecting them to?"

"No," Albus shook his head slowly, "But I wasn't expecting it the last few times, either. I'm just being cautious. You know, learning from my mistakes. Being human. All of that bunk."

The DADA Professor looked unamused. "Right. Maybe you stop by and we have a nip in my office, then. I'll resign myself to some grading. Sound acceptable?"

Albus could see the desperation in the man's face. Truth be told, he was trying hard to not imbibe, but one drink would not kill him. In any case, it was not the same as drinking alone and he very much wanted to keep Rudy from doing it by himself. He would make an appearance, at least. "Acceptable," Albus nodded slowly. "I'll come by after I've finished with Minerva."

"Excellent," Rudy nodded his head with finality and moseyed over to the door to Albus's office, turning around to face the man in the threshold. "I like the office. Looking forward to seeing the end-product."

Albus found himself genuinely looking forward to Minerva's arrival, though he wasn't completely sure why. It was not that he wanted to teach. It was Wednesday night. Who wanted to teach at that time of day mid-week? It was her company, perhaps. There was something genuinely endearing about how she wanted to see the world. Naïve and unrealistic in many ways, she did make a good case for optimism and that was refreshing.

The man lifted his head up occasionally from the papers on his new office desk in anticipation of her arrival. She must have taken her time eating, unlike Albus who had no desire to engorge himself with more bread and soup. His palate had started to enjoy mediocrity and that was not entirely acceptable.

She walked in through the classroom opening and cocked her head to the side as she passed his office door.

Albus gave her a nod, "Did you have a nice supper?"

"As nice as it ever is," the girl stated passively from the threshold. Her eyes wandered around the room which was foreign still to the whole of the student body. She took no care at all to look like she was doing anything other than scanning his office with curiosity. As her head reverted back to face him, she gave a nod, perhaps realizing how obvious she was being.

Albus smirked. It was quite obvious, now, why a cat. He had never quite noticed it in her before, funnily enough. Maybe it was just that she didn't care to be overly polite anymore. Familiarity did that to a person—or at least a few deep conversations and a near-death experience. "Do you like my new office?" he leaned back pleasantly in his chair.

"I do," she nodded. "Has this room always been here?"

"It has," the man smiled softly. "It was an old storage closet."

She made a face that clearly said that she was impressed with it all. She pointed towards the window, "I like the curtains."

He glanced over at his handiwork. "I just put them in today. You don't think there is too much Gryffindor pride in them?"

Minerva took a step closer and stared at the burgundy and gold for a second before shaking her head. "I think we all could use a little bit of pride in something. There is nothing wrong with choosing your house—especially in the case of the Head of House. No, I think it's most fitting."

"I'm glad to have your approval." Albus stood up from his chair and motioned towards the classroom. The girl turned around in a sprightly manner and walked to her desk, placing her books upon it. "I'll be making an announcement in all of my classes that my office has officially moved," the man stated as he moved some of his own books to the desk in the front of his classroom.

The girl let out a small laugh, "I assure you, we all have noticed the new hole in that wall that's been there for a week."

"Yes, I know," he smiled. "Not everything can be a secret."

"I don't think you tried very hard," she grinned playfully as she absent-mindedly began flipping through pages.

He shrugged with a grin of his own, "Are you suggesting that I was seeking attention?"

The smirk on her face did not fade. Her eyes flicked up, clearly stating the positive. "Absolutely not. That would be impertinent, Professor."

A small chuckle filled his vocal cords as he continued to make eye contact with the girl. His lips twitched up as he softly stated, "Indeed it would. And you're too polite for impertinence. Must be the McGonagall credo."

"You only think that because of my mother. We all have mean streaks when it suits us."

"I don't believe it," he shook his head vigorously. "You are too nice."

"Too nice to be angry? I think you're the optimistic one today."

Albus smirked. He didn't mind this sort of banter—he found it sort of refreshing, really. He liked that it didn't feel as though there was a rudeness or motive behind their exchanges. It was the playfulness. While her last lesson did not go perfectly by any means, they at least had a nice time once they both knew that she was breathing and well. That's when this sort of free chatter had started, wasn't it? The man clasped his hands together. "That may be. We all have our days. Are you ready to chat about last week and today?"

"Of course," she responded brightly. "The good news is that I've all my limbs and appendages."

"The good news," he clicked his tongue matter-of-factly, "is that you finished Friday with all of your limbs and appendages which is impressive, considering you lost an ear somewhere in the process. Maybe even a whole ear canal. You could have been deaf."

The girl sat up straighter, "But I am not. And there wasn't any blood. Do I not get recognition for that?"

He smirked and reached into his desk, pulling out a leather-bound book. Albus flipped towards the back and read off what it said. "A-hem—" Albus cleared his throat for effect, not out of anger—"Loss of left ear. Hissing and sputtering as a cat. Immediate reversal spell. Hearing intact. Uncontrollable vomiting," Albus looked up at the girl who was listening closely, "No infirmary visit. 45 minutes before willing to walk. Thirty minutes later before released. Chatted about the brain, quidditch and muggle films. Mostly Cary Grant." Albus looked up again with a soft smile and critical eye. "All of that sound familiar?"

"It does," she nodded. "I'm sorry about the sick on the floor."

The man waved it away with his hand, "Certainly not important. You were off balance. It was a natural reaction. What can you learn from all of that?"

She shrugged, "I needed more anatomy study."

"And did you?" he raised an eyebrow.

Minerva looked unamused. "I don't enjoy being hurt. Of course I did."

He shouldn't have found it funny, but he did, Minerva's reaction. She was most definitely a no-nonsense type of girl which was a rare find amongst the teenage class. In any case, he liked the cheekiness that seemed a new character trait he did not know existed. His smirk could not be hidden, though he tried. "Your goals for today, then, are what?"

"To do it, of course."

There was no such thing as grey for any topic to Minerva. This was basic character analysis. It made it easy to understand her.

The man raised an eyebrow, "I know you see improvement in your work."

"Of course. But I haven't done it. I won't be registered until I've done it—by the way, I received an owl back from Mr. Rhytherton. He seems very interested in meeting me. Should I tell him over the holidays?"

Surprising. Bertie didn't often respond quickly to anything, except when it piqued his interest. Of course he couldn't blame the man. A teenage animagus would be quite an impressive addition. Albus nodded, "If that is what suits you. If I were you, I would suggest Edinburgh—London is not safe right now."

Minerva shook her head, "Mother wouldn't let me go to London alone."

"Smart woman."

"I suppose," the girl sighed. "I'll send him an owl before this weekend. He hasn't told me very much about what his project is."

"I'm not sure myself," he scratched his forehead, "but it would be good for you to participate in whatever way you can—especially if you're so bent on not using your mother for social gain."

The girl raised an eyebrow, "Do you think that's wrong?"

"I think that you are gifted and deserve to be recognized on your own merit, but you do make things hard on yourself when you've been born with the tools to make success easy. You haven't any idea what sort of things you would have to give up if you seek greatness."

"I don't seek greatness." She blinked.

Perhaps he had never thought about it before. Greatness had always been his goal, but he certainly would never have the perspective that Minerva McGonagall had. His head cocked to the side ever-so-slightly. He spoke gently, curiously, "Then what do you seek?"

She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, her face still but with a thoughtful expression. The girl spoke eloquently, "Self-gratification—by means of knowing that my thoughts have spurned on other thoughts, that they've helped someone in some way. Where would the world be without the twelve uses of dragon's blood?" The girl shrugged humbly. "Lives have been improved because of you. I want to do that."

He did wish that he could feel as noble as Minerva McGonagall. He sought self-gratification in those endeavors, too, but it had nothing to do with helping people—Albus was a selfish being and he knew it, even if he didn't will it so. He shot a small smile filled with respect and adoration at the girl. "And I'm certain that you will, Miss McGonagall. Now," he nodded softly to change the subject, "are you ready for another attempt? Or do you need to chat it over? Anything you wish."

She exhaled a long breath and nodded, walking over to the spot she had decided for whatever reason was where she would practice. The girl turned and looked at Albus, making sure that he was ready should things go wrong as they had been.

He returned the nod, hiding with care the nerves he was feeling for her.

Albus watched with bated breath as the girl's shape shifted down to a creature with four paws, a tail and ears. His hands were clenched tightly around his wand as he cocked his head to the side. She didn't look like something was wrong—no missing ear, no projectile ribs—but something was indeed wrong for she curled tightly into a ball and let out a pathetic meow. He also took note of her fur which had more or less remained long hair—she reminded him of a mop. No sooner had he created these thoughts that the cat transfigured herself back into a girl, much to her professor's surprise.

The man dropped to his knees next to Minerva who was lying on her back with a sort of half-smile. She turned her head to look up at him reassuringly, "I'm not hurt."

He looked her over quickly, despite her words, then up at her big, rather green eyes. "What happened?"

The girl was clearly proud of herself for this large leap forward. Her face had a very large, very satisfied grin. She chuckled a little, "That same damned rib again. But it was better; no blood, no skin tearing, just hide-stretching."

Albus raised an eyebrow, feeling the need to play teacher before congratulating her. "Does it feel normal now? You don't feel light-headed or nauseated?"

Minerva shook her head, "I feel quite normal. That was better, wasn't it?" She looked up at him as if she were seeing him for the first time—and he looked back, finding himself in awe of her liveliness. "I transfigured myself back? That wasn't you?" The girl sat up and hugged her knees to her chest, her eyes always making eye-contact with her instructor.

A smile slipped over his lips. He collected his thoughts quickly and nodded, "I think that was trolls and dragons better. Yes," he added, "you did all of that without my assistance. You ought to find a way to celebrate."

"I don't think that's necessary," the girl sighed. "Maybe once I've done the real thing. After I've registered."

He wanted very much to correct her on such thought for she did deserve to celebrate, but stopped himself. Albus knew he would say the exact same thing if he were her. When she had completed the task, then, she would cheer for herself. "Certainly," he said softly but with pride, "you should celebrate then. I imagine that won't be too long off so long as you don't work backwards," he gave an encouraging smile. She had impressed him, today. "You will be the youngest recorded animagus, you know."

She looked surprised. "Is that true?"

He had done his research. "Yes," the man nodded. "Seventeen?"

"Eighteen," she bobbed her head up and down emphatically. "Unless I happen to succeed on Friday (which, I think, is a bit optimistic even for me). I'll be eighteen."

Oh. Of course; birthdays. "You've a birthday soon?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Sunday," she nodded sweetly.

"Sunday," he repeated with a nod. "I imagine you'll be going to the Ravenclaw-Slytherin match, then, instead of staying in to study as is your habit?"

"I always go to the quidditch games." She squeezed her legs tighter and shifted her body to face the man more. He could have made it easier and just faced her from the off, but he hadn't for whatever reason. Albus was glad that she was comfortable around him—she did often brighten his day.

And as for the man, crouching was not comfortable and there was no point staying in that position while there was no chance of needing to pop up and rush students to the infirmary. Albus let himself fall back onto the floor and sit with his legs crossed. "Much better," he smiled softly. "You like quidditch an awful lot, don't you?"

The girl nodded, "It comes with the territory, I suppose."

Last session that had spoken in depth about different teams and their statistics, their players and try-out policies. They had kept it at a safe distance away from her life, but today, perhaps, she felt like talking about her family. Her father was a team manager when not in wartime, Albus knew. "Your father must be proud of you. You've been on the team for quite a few years, now. You and Mr. Kotler," he ran his hands over his beard thoughtfully.

"He is," she nodded with a soft smile. "But he would be proud of me for doing anything. He's that sort of parent."

Ah, to be truly blessed like that.

"You're lucky," Albus said with encouragement, "Not everyone has supportive parents. Especially as supportive as yours seem to be—especially," he added as an after-thought, "when they are as successful as yours. Work often comes first when you have a demanding career."

"They've always been good to make time for me," she stated softly. "But I'm not particularly needy. I don't need them to hold my hand and I haven't since I was little. Certainly by the time I came here. But I do know that they would do anything for me if I asked and that's what counts. We are all that's left of the McGonagalls."

Unsurprising. "No grandparents or cousins?"

The girl shook her head. "Just us."

It was not his business and he knew it, but the idea, he thought, was quite strange. "And you've no brother to carry on the name?"

"Just me," she shrugged. "I don't think it's from lack of trying. But we're grateful to be a family," she nodded emphatically and added, "I'm grateful that father is well and at home and that mother is being helpful in Edinburgh."

He smiled kindly at her. He had nothing but the utmost respect for the McGonagalls who had in many ways helped the wizarding world. Albus took the time to pay her the compliment. "You're a family of good, intelligent civilians with kind hearts. You're very lucky," he nodded softly.

Perhaps it was not her place, either, to ask such personal questions, but he was unbothered by the impropriety of the question that followed: "Do you have family fighting?"

It was the question that bothered him. Or maybe, rather, the answer: Yes, indeed.

The man inhaled and let out a sigh. He felt his eyes dilate as he took his gaze away from the girl and take in the whole room. Albus looked over at the desk behind Minerva unconsciously, "I imagine my brother is doing his part. He's closed his business to do whatever it is. And I've no other family."

Somehow her gaze forced him to be sucked back in. That same look of kindness, of sympathy filled her face. "Has it always been like that?"

Albus blinked and shook his head, "No, I'm not an orphan. My mother died when I was about your age and my father went away before that. Aberforth and I are the last of the Dumbledores. I see a trend in magical families dying off—I imagine it's worse than we think with the war."

Minerva swallowed and nodded. "Gryffindor Tower is an upsetting place to be right now. After that raid," she shrugged softly and clicked her tongue, unsure of what to add.

She was a kind soul, Minerva McGonagall. It was one of the qualities that made her a good Head Girl. That, and her no-nonsense attitude. Unfortunately, Albus noted, feelings were nothing but nonsense for they had no reason—otherwise they would be logic. She seemed to be struggling with her desire for order in such an emotional climate. In any case, there was no handbook on comforting grieving friends. He let out a sigh. "How is Mr. Kotler?"

The girl looked at a loss for words for a fair moment before letting out a sigh, "Sad. He's very sad…but he's trying to keep busy. We've had longer practices and I've been sure to go on walks and things with him when we're not in class. Gwen also spends a lot of time with him. He's not lonely for people."

"Just his brothers," Albus gave a small, understanding nod. "Were the bodies recovered?"

"Yes," Minerva nodded.

"Open casket?"

She shook her head sadly as her eyes met the floor, but couldn't bring herself to say the words.

The man moved his head up and down slowly. "I'm glad that he was able to go to funeral. There are many students here who were not given that opportunity."

"I know," she stated softly and brought her eyes back up to him, her noble neck craning up her very large but dry eyes. "Have you lost many friends in the war?"

A numbness seemed to spread throughout his body, rather than an emotional heave. His head shifted down in a sure nod, "Many. And there will be more. And there are many that I don't yet know about. It is sort of the burden of having lived a few lives."

"Were you close to any of them?"

He blinked. Honestly? Albus shook his head sadly, "I am not one to get particularly close to people. There have been some that I certainly cared about," he swallowed with subtle self-loathing, "but no one that I felt I couldn't live without." He raised an eyebrow at the girl, "But perhaps I am too selfish to allow loss in."

It was clear by her reaction that she did not agree. Her fluid motions grew to a sort of jerk as she leaned forward towards him, her grip tightening on her legs, "You think yourself selfish? I would never have thought."

"That is just because I am a teacher," he nodded softly.

"But you're a Gryffindor."

"That does not inherently make me selfless. It makes me brave," his head moved up and down with certainty, "it makes me a fighter, a soldier, but I do value myself above others. I am much more of a general than anything else."

"A general leads the troops. A general is the first to die."

He raised an eyebrow. Interesting thought. "Perhaps. But does he make friends with his subordinates? I think leaders set themselves apart on purpose," he nodded at the girl, "Like you. You've set yourself apart from the others."

She was unsurprised by his assessment. "Have I?"

Minerva was in her seventh year. It was not that he intently watched the students, but after six years, it was only appropriate that he should have picked up on some things, some patterns, some choices that all of the students tended to make. Minerva's habits were not difficult to see.

He stared at the girl who clearly wanted nothing more than to hear his opinion for a long second before nodding. "Yes, you have. You have friends in Miss Paige and Mr. Kotler, who are leaders in their own ways, but you do not prefer their company, I don't think." The man blinked when the girl did not react, but rather, sat still and waited for more. "I see you by yourself more than with people in your free time. You separate yourself."

"I don't do it deliberately," she stated quietly, "but you are right. There is no one here that I," she paused to find the words, "connect with. It isn't that I'm removing myself. I just prefer my own company."

The man nodded softly. In that way, perhaps, they were very much alike. Albus could play the game, he could manipulate and chat up anyone, but at the end of the day, he wanted no one next to him. His own thoughts were his own, dark and brooding as they often were, they could remain untouched. Any damage that befell them was his own doing—he could blame only himself. Maybe it simply was a manifestation of his egocentric tendencies.

His thoughts snapped back to the girl, for whom he wished the best. A gentle smell befell his lips. "That will change," he nodded reassuringly, "Once you are out in the world, you will meet others who think like you, who are driven like you are, who have ambition." Of course this is what Albus had experienced with Gellert—that had been the wrong choice. Maybe that is why he felt the need to add, "Just don't let it dazzle you."

"Dazzle me?" she blinked with curious eyes.

His shoulders rose to a soft shrug, "Leaders have a thing about them. That makes people want to follow them," he nodded with assurance, "An aura; beware of it, perhaps, is what I am trying to say."

She gave a slow, comprehensive nod. "Like Gellert Grindewald?"

He swallowed. This girl possessed some sort of power that he could not quite define, a power which gave her access to every truth he knew. It was her eyes, yes. They only wanted to understand. "Yes, Minerva," his head moved up and down, "like Gellert Grindewald."

Feeling the tension in the room, the girl uncurled her knees and stretched out her legs on the stone floor. She stared at her feet for several seconds while he remained motionless, slowly beginning to drown in this thought that was leadership.

"Professor?"

The man exhaled slowly, lifting his head to look at the girl. "Yes?"

"A few weeks ago…when I…when you were having that nightmare: was it about the war?"

He blinked as the calmness of slow pit-pattering rain outside washed over his mind. He was not angry that she should ask. He was not even surprised. They had somehow crossed over some sort of barrier of politeness and found themselves in a world of familiarity and as a result, he could not be surprised by her casual interest. The man nodded his head gently, "I was dreaming about many unpleasant things, including the war."

"I thought so," she whispered softly and then turned her gaze towards the classroom window. It was too dark to see outside, but the outside could certainly be heard.

Albus tried not to stare at the profile of this dear creature, but found it difficult.

He blinked and stood up, unwilling to allow himself to be sucked into another two hour long lesson. There were things to be done, studies to be made. But there was one thing he very much did want to discuss with her. The man took a seat at his desk.

Minerva, having a keen sense of when to stay and when to leave, began packing up her things.

"There is something I would like to suggest, Miss McGonagall," he stated softly as she flung her book bag over her shoulder.

She nodded and gave him her full attention.

His lips shifted up softly, "I think, perhaps, while we are in these private lessons, for the sake of communication, I will allow you to call me Albus. Professor Dumbledore is such a mouthful and there is no reason for that. You are in no way obligated to do that if you feel uncomfortable with it, but I am giving you permission to do so, if you so desire."

The girl thought it over and then gave a slow nod. "Perhaps I will. Thank you, Professor."

"You did a very good job today, Miss McGonagall," he said with kindness and a deep regret that he had an empty night ahead of him.

"Thank you," she whispered softly. "Do have a good night."

"And you."

Albus watched as Minerva left the room.

He felt odd. He felt warm—not a sickly warm, but a cheerful sort of warm. He felt happy. Yes, happy was the word. Albus had almost forgotten what that was. Oh, there had been moments of happiness, but he quite suddenly had the realization that some semblance of a cheerful demeanor had returned. It was not just the lessons, it was the office, too. And it was the girl. He had found someone to connect with.

The man stood up from his desk and waved his wand to blow out the candles in the room. It was best that they had decided to have a drink on the grounds. They wouldn't have been able to go out, anyway. No one would want to brave that wind.

R&R SVP