Disclaimer – They are hers all hers (and it's JUST NOT FAIR!!!!!)
A/N: Yeah, this was kinda meant as a response to the challenge that went out on albusandminerva after the picture of Maggie Smith and the rest of the cast standing outside the Gryffindor Common room at Halloween was published on mugglenet.com. The idea being to explain why her hair seems so much shorter in this pic than general opinion has it being. In any case I shall leave the debate at that (though in contrast to this fic, I'm not sure that it isn't waist length….) Anyway, there has been some debate as to whether this does actually fit the criterion but I'd love you to let me know what you think.
Thanks to M (as always)
xLx
Minerva stood in front of the mirror hanging above the sink in the bathroom attached to the staff room, and ran a hand through her hair. She hadn't intended to take it down, but when she had arrived in the room after lunch she had realised that half of the strands were in danger of breaking free from their confinement, so she had taken out the fastenings that held it in place and here she was. For the first time in as long as she could remember, her locks were dry and brittle instead of soft and silky. Split-ends that she had always been so careful to avoid had grown to such proportions that she knew that she really was going to have to lop off great swathes of her hair if she wanted it to look as if it were in anything near good condition again in the near future. She wasn't a vain woman though, and although her hair had always been something of a weakness, the long tresses were her one self-indulgence, she was not attached to them enough that the thought of cutting them off would have such a melancholy effect on her. But now, this year of all years, it seemed symbolic of so much more. Ever since the dementors had arrived at the school, it was as though a dark cloud had descended down on top of her, of every-one she supposed; a mist had obscured her vision. Everything she did or felt was tainted with the feeling of despair that seemed to be emanating from her very soul. She had done her best to try and keep a façade of normality up for the students, all of the staff had, but in private they would all acknowledge that those who were old enough to have lived through one, if not both the last wars, could feel the dementors even from a distance. For the first few weeks she had been so worried about their effect on her students that she had barely even noticed the change in herself. She had kept her eyes peeled, knowing that there were at least three of her little cubs who were bound to be more susceptible to these monster's call than the others. Neville Longbottom seemed to be doing admirably however, and she supposed that though his Grandmother had been strict in her raising of the boy, he had never lacked for love even if his parents had been mostly absent from his life. Ginny Weasley was finding it harder. After the events of the last year Minerva had been more than a little concerned about the girl and had made the effort to see her over the summer, building a stronger relationship. That said, she had not been surprised when an exhausted girl had knocked on her door one evening towards the end of the students' first week back. Nothing overt had been said but Minerva had let her in and poured tea, allowing her to talk of what she would and it seemed to have helped, as did undoubtedly the sleeping draught Poppy had mixed for her and since then she seemed to have been coping much better. Her fears for the boy who lived had been realised even before the train had arrived at the station, and although she did her best to hide it, her fear for his health had shot through the roof that evening. But it seemed that his resilience ran as deep as his bravery and loyalty. She would watch out for him though; she knew the danger that faced him even if he was still unaware. In any case, she had had plenty to keep her thoughts occupied. She carried on with her routines - little changing from week to week. She didn't notice that she only ate out of habit, that more and more she would spend any time she had to herself in her animagus form, or that she slept less often than was perhaps wise.
She ran a hand through her hair again. She wanted to push the issue aside. So, she was going to have to cut her hair - it wasn't as if she had never done it before or that it would never grow back. In any case, she argued with herself, it was a ridiculous waste of time and energy to keep it up, and if she had been careful enough to eat a properly balanced diet and get enough sleep and was capable of letting things go and relaxing every once in a while, it would likely have never gotten to this stage. It wasn't as if the Dementors or anybody else were drawing the life out of her from the hair down. And yet, the irrational side of her felt that that was exactly what was happening. Biting down on her lip she supressed the tears that for some reason were gathering in her eyes. This was beyond ridiculous. Minerva McGonagall didn't cry, especially about something as entirely superficial as her hair and certainly not in somewhere so public as the staff room. She was so busy watching the tired, haggard face that looked back at her from the mirror that she didn't even notice when another figure became visible in the glass.
"I think it's going to rain soon." The voice, even though it was more than familiar, made her start. "There are clouds gathering on the horizon. I hope the students get back from the village before it starts to pour." The benign statements were so typically Albus that she wanted to laugh. But instead she felt the tears she had been holding back fall down her cheeks. Before she even knew what it was that was going on she was sobbing, her shaking body wrapped tightly in comforting arms, familiar words of comfort from a familiar source caressing her ear. He did not ask any awkward questions, he did not do anything overt. But he was there, like the pillar of strength she always tried to be but never seemed quite to manage. She wasn't certain how long they stood there, but when eventually she managed to pull herself together enough to draw away and offer an apologetic smile, he simply ushered her into the thankfully deserted teachers lounge.
"Now my dear." He began after conjuring tea and biscuits. "Would you like to tell me what was the cause of all this upset?" He asked quietly sitting down a little way away from her on the sofa, but turned so that they faced each other. Minerva got the distinct impression that the Headmaster and her closest friend had a fair idea of the underlying cause of her anguish but as to the trigger of this ridiculous pantomime…
She was talking to him before she even thought through what she ought to say and this feeling was alien to her. The number of times she had stood at the foot of the stone stairs that lead up to his office trying to figure out just what she ought to say, how she ought to approach some delicate topic or another were numerous, but this time the words seemed to flow out. When she was done she realised that she was staring at the bottom of her empty teacup.
"I know it's totally ridiculous…" She continued looking up at him.
"I know you well enough my dear that I am in no doubt what so ever that this afternoon was an incredibly good example of you not realising quite how ridiculously over wrought you have become over the last few weeks." She dipped her head again; hoping to hide the blush she knew was creeping across her cheeks. "Now, now though. It is by no means the end of the world and I think I know just what you need." She looked up at this, drawing herself from rather horrible imaginings kick-started with the thought that it could quite as easily have been Severus who had found her in the bathroom spacing out.
Half an hour later she was sitting in a chair in her bathroom minus almost two feet of hair.
"There you go! Told you I wasn't totally incapable!" Her companion said proudly. "After all I used to cut Aberforth's." He continued as he swiped away a few last remaining strands of hair.
"Aberforth actually had his hair cut?" Minerva asked, astonished. Albus's brother had hair even longer than hers had been until about twenty-five minutes ago, the last time she had seen him.
"Oh yes, precisely three millimetres off every three weeks." She couldn't help but smile at this. It struck her as a very Dumbledore family trait. "Here you go." He said a moment later, levitating the mirror he had banished from the wall a little earlier, so that she could see for the first time how she looked. "Not bad if I say so myself." She ran her hands through the strands, her hands falling out of the bottom, subconsciously expecting there to be much more there. He was right though, she didn't look nearly as bad as she had expected.
"I might even be able to tie it back in a bun…" She said more to herself than anyone else.
"And in that case, it'll be our little secret…" He said with a twinkle. She smiled a little.
"Thank you." She said quietly. The superficial solution had been enough to lighten her spirits considerably and for this she was more than grateful. "How about a cup of cocoa by way of payment?" She offered, standing up and brushing off clothes that were really fit for the bin. They were comfy however and Albus insisted that it would be a shame if his scissors were to accidentally slip and damage a perfectly usable robe.
"That sounds absolutely wonderful." He said and opened the door back into her little sitting room. She served cocoa for her guest and tea for herself, as Albus pottered around the room in the way he usually did. It wasn't often that they had a chance to spend time like this together in the middle of the school-term and even when they were together it tended to be in Albus's office rather than the room directly below the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. They sat in comfortable silence for a time as they drank and simply enjoyed each other's company. Minerva ran her hand through hair, idly examining the ends as she did so. It seemed that the emotional outburst from earlier had drained her last reserves as nights of prowling corridors when she ought to have been sleeping began catching up with her. Her eyes began to droop and it was only as she tasted the last of the cooling tea in the bottom of the cup that she realised what her conniving, manipulating cheeky friend had done.
"You spiked my tea!" She accused him, somewhat disappointed by the lack of vehemence that came across in her voice.
"I wouldn't put it quite like that." Came the cool response. She scowled at him. "But…" He continued. "Yes, I did add a little sleeping draught to your tea." She hmphed at him.
"Last time I trust you." She murmured trying to decide whether it was worth trying to fight off the potion's effects. She suspected it had probably been made by Severus though, and although his social skills might have been lacking, no one could possibly criticise his potion making talents.
"Now I don't think you mean that." Albus replied as he stood and retrieved one of the blankets that was draped across the back of the sofa. "However it would be worth it all the same if you get some rest." He said. She thought about protesting but in the end simply sunk further down on the settee and let herself be tucked in.
"What about the feast!?" She said trying to sit up as she realised that she simply could not just fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon. Strong hands pushed her back down though, placing a cushion beneath her to pillow her head.
"Hush my dear. I am sure we will manage without you for just this one night, don't you think?" It was hardly a question but even if it had been Minerva suspected that she would not have been able to answer. It was becoming harder and harder to think straight. She was aware of Albus leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before the weight on her makeshift bed changed and she heard retreating footsteps across the room and the quiet creak of an old door being open and shut again with the utmost care. The next thing Minerva was aware of was a huge furore above her head. She was upright and on her way out of the room without a thought to her appearance in the next instant, her heart racing with fear and apprehension as to what exactly was going on to create such chaos. Even in her slightly panicked state however, the truth was still worse than any of the possibilities she had come up with as she raced up the stairs.