"The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to--er--let our hair down," she said, in a disapproving voice.
Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. Harry could see what was funny this time: Professor McGonagall, with her hair in a tight bun, looked as though she had never let her hair down in any sense.
—J.K. Rowling,Goblet of Fire
"Care to dance, Minerva?" Albus Dumbledore, glowing after a lively turn on the dance floor with Professor Sinistra, approached the table where Minerva McGonagall had already sat out the first three numbers. Dumbledore wore velvet dress robes of deep purple and might have looked quite regal and impressive--except that his tall peaked hat was bedecked with holly sprigs, twinkling stars, and one large, crimson phoenix feather waving at a jaunty angle.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "To that?" she said, nodding toward the band. Hogwarts students had been thrilled when Dumbledore had announced he was booking the Weird Sisters for the Yule Ball, but McGonagall was not the first staff member to show distaste.
"Oh, now, it's not that bad. This is quite a nice little waltz tune, if you just ignore the wailings and explosions." Dumbledore grinned and extended a hand. "Come now, Minerva, I can't allow a pretty young thing like you to play the wallflower all evening!"
"Really, Albus!" McGonagall said with a sniff, but she allowed Dumbledore to lead her onto the dance floor. She was dressed in red tartan dress robes cut straight and severe, and her hat was questionably ornamented with a wreath of thistles.
Despite his years, Dumbledore was an agile and enthusiastic dancer and spun McGonagall about with flair. McGonagall accompanied him stiffly at first, wincing now and then when the Weird Sisters struck a particularly intense wail, but in time she began to enjoy the dance (if not the music) in spite of herself, and her movements became uncharacteristically fluid. Her dancing had none of Dumbledore's flourishes but was instead marked by a simple grace and strength--feline, Dumbledore thought as she followed him up out of a deep dip without the slightest loss of balance or composure.
After the waltz and a very lively number in which McGonagall somehow matched Dumbledore's every exuberant whirl with poise and dignity, the music changed to a slow tune. McGonagall made as if to withdraw, but Dumbledore drew her close--only to flinch back as the thistles on her hat grazed his cheek. He released his hold on McGonagall, and she made her escape.
"Why thistles, Minerva?" he grumbled as he followed her off the dance floor. "Are you that anxious to keep admirers at bay?"
"Thistles are a family tradition." She seemed amused by his exasperation. "Anyhow, would you prefer me to look like that?"--with a nod toward a passing Hufflepuff girl whose hair was festooned with magenta ribbons and a saucer-sized luminescent butterfly.
Dumbledore laughed. "Not exactly! But...." He looked speculatively at McGonagall's bristling hat, then drew out his wand. "May I?"
She returned his speculative gaze. "Go ahead--on one condition."
"Yes?"
"No phoenix feathers."
"Agreed." Dumbledore gingerly lifted the thistle wreath, then touched his wand to the peak of McGonagall's hat. The hat vanished. "Don't worry, it's safely back in your bureau," he said in answer to her raised eyebrows. "Now for this...." He touched the wand to the thistles, and they became a delicate wreath of silver ivy, accented here and there with a few crimson berries.
McGonagall smiled as she took the wreath from his hands and placed it on her head. "Thank you, Albus," she said, sounding bemused but pleased.
They stood in silence for a time, watching the dancers, until Ludo Bagman strolled up to them and began chatting volubly. "Albus! Minerva! I say, your Hogwarts sure puts on a fine shindig. Haven't been to such a good party since three New Years' Eves ago when Zecharias Flubb had his fireworks show. Of course, we're all keyed up over the championship; that does add to the atmosphere. Can't wait to see who comes out ahead! Either of you care to place a wager?"
"I don't think that would be appropriate," said McGonagall, a bit coldly.
"Albus?"
"No thank you, Ludo. The last time I placed a bet was at a tortoise race, and I lost five knuts because my tortoise decided to take a nap halfway to the finish line. Can't blame the little fellow, though; he looked quite overworked."
"Er, well--" Just then the slow song gave way to a lively one, and Bagman bowed extravagantly to McGonagall. "Cut a rug with me, Minerva?--No, I insist," he said when she started to demure. "I saw you dancing with Albus here; you must do me the same honor. Come, my lovely!" He led her onto the floor, and Dumbledore was soon dancing with Professor Sprout, who was in amiable spirits and laughed as he whirled her about. As they passed McGonagall and Bagman, Dumbledore noticed that McGonagall looked as stiff as a broomstick and was cooperating only minimally with her partner's showy moves.
After her dance with Bagman, McGonagall excused herself from the next song and made her way to the drinks table, where Dumbledore was already refreshing himself with something that fizzed loudly and flickered from lime green to mauve and back again. She surveyed the other beverages, found them all to be equally colorful, and made a face.
"Have you ever had polka-dot punch?" said Dumbledore, pointing to a bowl. "Excellent stuff. Some people find it turns their earlobes orange, but that wears off in a day or two."
McGonagall scowled. "Albus, I've just had enough foolishness from Ludo Bagman to last me the week; please don't add to it. And no," she added as Dumbledore started to gesture toward another punch bowl whose contents were a gently simmering plaid, "I don't want any of that one either."
"How about some fresh air, then?" He gestured toward the entrance hall.
"That sounds like an excellent idea," McGonagall said as she noticed Bagman heading in their direction. They went out into the rose garden, which glimmered with fairy lights and moonbeams. Students were also strolling the paths or sitting on stone benches, and McGonagall sniffed disapprovingly when they passed two fifth-years engaged in a prolonged kiss behind an inadequately concealing rosebush.
"Now, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "Surely you had your share of boyfriends when you were a girl."
"Well, yes, but...." She looked back at the pair behind the rosebush, who still hadn't come up for air, and frowned. She was about to march in their direction when Dumbledore put a hand on her arm and drew her toward a bench instead.
"Minerva, I insist; it's too nice an evening to play disciplinarian," he said as they sat down. "Don't tell me you never did a bit of harmless canoodling in your student days...."
"But, Albus, fifth-years? When I was that age, the girls still argued about whether you ought to let a boy kiss you goodnight if you were going steady."
"Yes, and when I was that age, getting caught giving Sylvia Snodbury a quick peck in the library was grounds for detention and owls to both our parents. The worst part was that the whole school heard about it, and I was twitted for weeks about how only I would have tried to enact an illicit love scene in the Arithmancy section."
"Only you? How so?"
"Ah, Minerva, if you could have seen yours truly in the prime of his youth! A gangling string bean of a boy who wandered the halls with his nose in a book. I was liable to get so absorbed in my homework that I'd miss mealtimes; my friends got used to bringing leftovers up to the dormitory, where they'd usually find me still buried in history books or transfiguring my bedsheets into field mice. Said they'd better feed me or I'd end up living on nothing but sweets till graduation, and they were probably right."
"I used to read in the halls too, but if I was wrapped up in a history book at dinnertime, I generally just brought it to the table."
"And what about transfiguration?"
"Well, one night I transfigured all my carrots into clothespegs, but Professor Terratin noticed and told me to practice elsewhere."
Dumbledore laughed. "Poor Minerva, denounced at the dinner table for illicit study. My dear, I never dreamed you were such a shockingly unruly child!"
McGonagall could not help laughing too. They exchanged a smile that was almost conspiratorial, and fell silent for a while. At last Dumbledore spoke again.
"Minerva, there's just one thing I need to know to complete my picture of your younger self."
"Oh?"
"Did you always wear that spectacularly formidable hairdo?"
"Albus, of all the absurd questions! No, I chose the style when I began teaching; I like to keep a professional appearance as a faculty member." She looked pointedly at Dumbledore's twinkling hat, but he ignored this.
"I confess I find it hard to picture you without it," he said, leaning toward her and studying her face. "One of those tantalizing images that one can't quite grasp until one has seen them in reality...." And before she could realize what he meant to do, he had lifted a hand and begun deftly removing the hairpins from the tight bun at the nape of McGonagall's neck.
"Albus, what--"
"Ah, that's much better." Dropping the last pin in his pocket, he unwound her long black hair and ran his fingers through it, spreading it so that it fell in waves about her face from beneath the silver wreath. Then, one hand still tangled in her hair, he bent forward and kissed her, one brief gentle kiss upon the lips.
McGonagall looked up at him with an odd smile, somewhere between her usual irony and pure feminine delight. Dumbledore put his arm around her shoulders and was about to speak when she noticed two students strolling in their direction and drew back. "Let's walk," she said, and rose from the bench.
They wandered farther from the castle, neither speaking for a time. As they passed behind a cluster of trees at the edge of the rose garden, Dumbledore slipped an arm around McGonagall's waist.
"Really, Albus," she said, glancing around as if expecting students to leap out of the shrubbery, "I don't think--"
"Really, Minerva," he said in imitation of her severe tone, "if there are kids hiding in the bushes, I'm sure they're much too busy to notice us." He smiled impishly at her. "And I don't see why they should be having all the fun...."
With that, he drew her into his arms and kissed her, not a peck this time but a long, leisurely, sensuous kiss that slowly intensified until McGonagall forgot all her reserve, forgot the prospect of students in the bushes, and melted into Dumbledore's embrace with a soft, low moan. It sounded (Dumbledore thought, before he lost himself in her completely) almost as if she was purring.
"Minerva, if you've finished, could you come upstairs with me?" It was a crisp January morning, and Dumbledore had just finished his scrambled eggs in the great hall.
"Of course, Albus." McGonagall gave the headmaster a professional nod as she rose from her seat, and the two departed briskly while the other teachers still lingered at the table.
"I do wonder what those two are so busy with," said Professor Sprout to Professor Flitwick.
"Whatever it is, it must be dreadfully important," said Flitwick. "They've been shutting themselves up together every spare moment for the past week and a half."
"Well, I wish they'd take a break now and then," Sprout said in a motherly tone. "I hate to see anyone work that hard on vacation. I mean, really--term starts in three days, and they haven't taken a bit of time to enjoy themselves!"