"Of course she's never made anybody turn hard before, except maybe Dumbledore."

And so the infamous words were said, while Ron snickered and Harry laughed at his own joke, an idea popped into Hermione's head. . .

"Mr. Weasley," Minerva McGonagall admonished sternly. "Is there something you would like to share with the class?"

The boy whose face was looking more and more like a bruised plum by the second was saved from having to answer by the appearance of a tall wizard with long white hair and half-moon spectacles.

"Minerva," he greeted, his voice resonating throughout the classroom.

Her head popped up, mayhap a little too quickly, for the Transfiguration professor saw Hermione studying her closely.

"Headmaster," the witch acknowledged stiffly.

The headmaster cast his gaze over the room and the class fell silent, going back to transfiguring their quills into rabbits.

"I've come for the report," he murmured, returning his gaze to her.

She picked up a stack of papers, black and white and sealed together with a charm, from her desk, which was spick and span with everything neatly categorized.

"Here it is, seventh years are at the top, with sixth years beneath who show an above-age level handle on the subject, with fifth years below who I believe we might want to keep an eye on."

"Thank you Min, your help is greatly appreciated," the older wizard said softly, looking deeply into her eyes.

The professor's heart sped up like a girl's when she heard him use her nickname, the name her parents had called her. Her parents, had been killed close to twenty years ago, in an attack by Muggle Terrorists. A fact she had revealed to him, she remembered, in a rare moment of weakness right after they had been killed.

She sat by the lake, watching the giant squid thrash playfully through the water as the sun set behind the forbidden forest, free of the misery that suffocated her, that sat on her heart.

Twenty or so years, or lack thereof, did much to her features. Her hair still ink-black, fell lightly around her shoulders, possessing a slight wave. Her face, filled out a bit, softened her sharp features, curving the line of her cheekbone and nose.

"Lovely afternoon, isn't it? So peaceful, without the students. Although I must admit I miss them," said the wizard who's dark hair had just a few streaks of gray here and there.

"If you don't mind Albus, I would like to be alone," the witch said thickly turning her face to hide the tears in her eyes and coursing down her face.

"A wise man once told me, that grief is lightest when shared with others," the wizard said, ignoring her words and sitting lightly down beside her.

"Such an interesting quote, but as I said, I would prefer solitude at the moment," the witch repeated, her voice rising.

"No," came the soft utter from her side.

"Excuse me," the witch sputtered indignantly.

"A wise man once told me tha-"

"I don't want to know what a wise man once told you! I don't care! Can't you see that," the witch yelled, standing up, and with fresh tears running down her cheeks. "I just received an owl telling me that my parents were killed by a bloody terrorist, and you're spouting off some rubbish like a bloody fountain from a man that's most likely been dead since before I care to remember!"

Without a word she sat back down heavily onto the ground, sobbing into her hands. She felt the warm presence of a hand on her shoulder, and soon another as she was pulled into a strong embrace, being rocked back and forth like a child.

The last thing she remembered was hearing soft soothing words in her ear, and a hand rubbing her back. She woke up the next morning safe in her own bed, and had never spoken to him about it since.

"I'm happy to help," she said, cursing the breathlessness apparent in her voice. "I suppose you'll be meeting with Professor Lorelei shortly to discuss the potions needed?"

"Yes, she should be notifying me shortly of an appropriate time."

"And tell me why you can't confer with Severus about this, again," she asked, thinking of the long hours he would have to spend with that woman in the lone, isolated. . . dark dungeon. Alone.

Realizing that her students were listening avidly to the conversation even while they appeared to concentrate on their transfigurations, Minerva waved Albus out of the classroom. Once in the corridor, she said in an undertone,"Tell me, exactly why you can't confer with the Potions Master instead of an Assistant Potions Professor with only seven years experience," she asked, thinking of the long hours he would have to spend with a young, attractive woman in the secluded, isolated. . . dark dungeon. Alone.

"Because Severus would not have time, with his other work for The Order," he explained patiently.

"I see. So you'll be spending lot's of time with her, alone, then, won't you."

"Possibly. I should think it isn't any of your concern though," he teased, his eyes alight and dancing.

"I was just curious," she explained. Now affecting a dignified air the tall woman said, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a class to

teach."

Ignoring the headmaster's chuckle she swept back into the classroom.

Later, during dinner in the Great Hall, a redhead closely watched the entrance,

"Wonder where Hermione is," Ron wondered in the Great Hall that day.

"I saw her head off to the library after our last class, been there ever since, oh wait, there she is," Harry replied as he saw the brunette rushing into the great hall and over to the table.

"'Lo Herm-" Ron started, but stopped as Hermione interrupted him, rushing into a speech.

"I have a plan," the witch said excitedly.

Seeing the bewildered looks on the boys' faces she plowed on.

"To get Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall to profess their feelings for each other, obviously."

"Oh well of course, why didn't I think of that before," Harry said sarcastically, smacking his forehead with his hand.

Rolling her eyes Hermione replied, "Well obviously you wouldn't have seen it. But to the careful observer," here Ron snorted indelicately into his mashed potatoes. "It's obvious. Every time Dumbledore comes into the room her eyes get bright, and during supper the other day, when their hands brushed, she actually blushed!"

"Well that's all great 'Mione, but how do you know Dumbledore feels the same way," Ron asked.

"I have my ways," Hermione said evasively.

"I don't like the sound of that," Harry muttered.

"Now are you in or not," Hermione asked looking expectantly at them.

Looking like a deer caught in Muggle headlights, the two boys shot each other a look before Harry stuttered, "Er, what. . would we have to, uh, do?"

"All you'd have to do is get McGonagall down to the dungeons."

"And what about Dumbledore," Ron cut in.

"I'll take care of that."

"Proffesor Lorelei," Hermione called, running down the hall towards the woman who looked more like a siren than an educator, and who she was sure shouldn't be allowed to look so beautiful.

"Yes Hermione," the woman asked turning around.

"I, well, this is kind of . . . a strange request, but, erm . ." the girl trailed off, flustered.

Amused at the usually forthright girl's reluctance Lorelei asked, "This wouldn't have to do anything with a certain matchmaking scheme would it, by any chance?"

The shocked girl looked up from her hands. "How did you know?"

"House elves. They serve your food, listen to your conversations, and gossip like mad. "

"So you agree, with my reasoning," Hermione asked hopefully.

"Absolutely. All the staff does. There's been a secret pool on when those two give into their feelings for years. I'm the only one who's bet this month, so if I can help you and win the pool, well...just tell me how I can help." Smiling at the surprised expression, the professor said, "I know you have a plan. Boys are too...unsubtle for these kinds of things...but the female mind is more than up to the task. What can I do?"

Flushed with pleasure Hermione rapidly explained her plans.

"Professor McGonagall! Professor McGonagall," a third year exclaimed as she ran up to the imposing woman in the corridor, light brown braids loose and out of breath.

"Yes Leah?"

"Fight . . . in dungeons 5 . . . Draco Malfoy . . . and . . . Harry . . . Potter. Lorelei's room."

The professor was already running down the hall as fast as her sensible heels would allow.

Meanwhile, the Headmaster looked around the empty dungeon room. "Lorelei," he called.

"Ah, well, she said she might be late in her note," he said to himself, and sat down gracefully into a chair behind the desk. He popped a lemon drop, (of which he always had a supply of wherever he went, just in case), into his mouth and prepared to wait.

Hurrying down the hall, McGonagall was surprised not to hear any sounds of fighting.

They must have cast a silencing charm.

She rounded the last corner and burst through the door.

"Stop this nons-" She stopped, looking around the room, seeing no signs of either boys, only a solitary man sitting behind the desk studying her.

"I can assure you I am up to no nonsense. Just what exactly were you expecting?"

Sighing exasperatedly to hide her flaming cheeks, she said primly, "A third year informed me that a fight was in progress in this classroom. Why are you here, may I ask?"

"I am meeting with Professor Lorelei, though it appears she is absent."

"Obviously. Well then maybe I'll just, stay here. . . it seems my previous engagement has canceled, also," the witch said sitting down on the other side of the desk.

"I see," the wizard said, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of the enchanted torches on the wall. Dancing as the flames flickered- and went out.

A high-pitched scream echoed throughout the dungeon.

"My word, what was that," McGonagall exclaimed reaching toward the desk.

"It was- er, nothing," Dumbledore explained, his voice slightly higher than usual. "Must have been an, er, boggart! Scared of the dark!"

"Boggarts aren't scared of anything, Albus. And there's nothing else in here besides us."

"Oh," the headmaster said, feigning indifference, and affecting, and failing, a light laugh. "How interesting."

"Albus! I believe you're afraid of the dark," McGonagall exclaimed, the smile in her voice evident even in the dark.

"What," Dumbledore explained, his voice growing frantic. "I don't know what you're talking about! Why would you think that!"

"That was you that shrieked. I thought it sounded a bit familiar."

"I-I don't know w-what you're talking about," he said, attempting a brave façade.

"How ironic. You're the only one in the world besides Harry that the Dark Lord fears, but yet you're afraid of the dark. I wonder what else you fear."

"Nothing," said Dumbledore.

Well, that was what he meant to say. Everybody within hearing distance, therefor, only the witch standing beside him, heard, "You."

In the shocked silence that followed, Dumbledore used his quick-thinking skills to come to a decision.

He debated briefly backtracking madly, but quickly dismissed it, as he knew it would never work on a person such as his Min. So the only other option, it seemed, was to plow forward.

"Let me rephrase that. I don't fear you. I fear Tom Riddle finding out about you, of my," and here his voice lowered to an almost imperceptible volume, making McGonagall lean over the desk to hear. "of my, feelings, for you."

He heard a gasp, only a few inches from him, and felt the cold intake of breath on his face.

"So you-" McGonagall started.

"Yes," Dumbledore interrupted. "I understand, that you don't feel the same way. And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you, but I felt you had a right to know-"

Here he would have kept going all night, if it wasn't for the surprisingly soft and warm lips pressed against his.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said. "What a pleasant surprise. I never knew you had a thing for older men."

"Oh don't let it get to your head Albus, to be sure nothing you've done has inspired these feelings of mine towards you. Besides, I had to shut you up."

With an almost wolfish grin, perceptible even in the dark, the surprisingly agile wizard made his way around the desk. Reaching out, he slid his hands up slender arms to cradle Min's face and position her mouth for a kiss that was years overdue

In the shadowy corridor outside the dungeon, a boy yelped,

"Ow! Bloody hell Harry, would you stop stepping on my feet?"

"Ron, quiet! We're almost there," Hermione admonished, hoping he couldn't see her face, for the blush there, because of the fact that her abrupt stop outside of the classroom had caused Ron to crash not-so-gracefully into her, effectively pinning her up against the wall with his body.

Coughing embarrassedly, Ron quickly moved away.

"Er- right. Well, we're here," the witch attempted in a bright manner, and turned her attention to the door, muttering a complicated locking spell.

"What was that for," Harry asked.

"To make sure they couldn't leave," Hermione said with an impish smile.

She opened the door slowly and peered through, Ron crowding behind her trying to see in.

A moment later they had both backed quickly out of the doorway, both their faces red, and a look of slight satisfaction mingling with disgusted looks alternating on their faces.

"What! What'd you see," Harry asked frantically.

Seeing that he would get no response from them he opened the door and looked for himself.

The sight that met his eyes made him gasp and run out of the doorway, forgetting all about being 'quiet as a mouse,' as Hermione had suggested earlier.

The trio heard muffled sounds inside the room, and soon the pair came out of the dungeons classroom, both trying to look unaffected. And except for the slightly askew position of Dumbledore's hat, and the slightly flushed cheeks of McGonagall, they succeeded.

"Hello Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said brightly.

The trio continued to stare in open horror at the pair.

The trio, who were alternating their gazes between Dumbledore and McGonagall, saw a strange look come over their transfiguration professor's face. The next moment she turned away towards the wall, but not far enough, because they still saw her delicately take a lemon drop out of her mouth.