okay, I give in…no more notes. :'( I'll miss writing back to you all! Thank you for reviewing, you've been awesome!

Note: I'm not sure if it'll be two weeks when I update next. I have a trip, Christmas, AND a spastic computer. We'll see, but the max wait at this point is 3 weeks. :)


Chapter Three: Conceptions

Albus woke up early like he always did. There was little more than a glimmer of sunlight to behold at the horizon while the stars were still quite visible. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully as he stared through the bedroom window.

The water was calm, mist low, and air soft. The trees even swayed gently in the morning air, dancing to the early birds' song. An almost ghostly figure was sitting at the edge of the dock in a perplexing light, dragging her bare feet across the water. He'd been watching her for nearly ten minutes as she'd been laying there, head still as any of the rocks on the shore.

She was lonely; he could tell. It was not that she was out by the lake in the morning, or that her eyes seemed to light up at the sight of him, no. He'd deduced that Minerva was lonely by an expression. It was only a look, combination of lips and eyes, but it told him much. If one were to ask him to describe this facial expression, all he could say was that her eyes were sad and her mouth blank. He realized that ordinarily eyes would be blank and a mouth would be sad, but that would not quite describe what he saw. It was if she were a bogart who'd mistaken her enemy's fear and was left only with half of an object, twisted and mangled.

He shook his head slowly, quite at a loss. In, out, in, he watched as she glided her feet across the water, sending ripples across the lake. She was looking up now, at his home. Minerva could probably see him if she looked hard enough, but he didn't care. He was wholly fixated on her face.

There was a smile on her lips, unlike anything that he had ever seen. By this, he did not mean a smile relative to Minerva, no; the formation of her mouth was something entirely new to him. She was deep in some sweet memory, perhaps.

Her hand was clutching something at the base of her neck, holding it close to her chest. It was a necklace, a love charm conceivably. He wouldn't put it past Minerva; she was a very beautiful woman, always had been. There had to have been some love—perhaps a lost one—, for whom she longed, yearned. And she was thinking about him out on the dock while in the comfort of wonderful memories. The images that flooded through her head registered as a smile; only love could put such a fulfilled look on a woman's face.

Albus blinked to himself, considering his own love life. There was only one woman that he had ever loved in true, unyielding adoration. She had been younger than him, only by a few years. And she had the most beautiful gray eyes he'd ever seen; he still got lost in the memory when he allowed himself. Beautiful hair too, it had been some off shade of brown, really closer to red. God, she had been beautiful.

But he didn't miss her anymore, not after nearly sixty years. Some days he liked to think that she looked at him from the sky, helped him sleep when the hard nights came, but she was a fleeting thought in his mind most of the time. Only once a year did he ever seem to really think about the woman, and that was at Hermit Lake. It had something to do with the seashells that had been discarded along the shore back when the lake was still part of the ocean. It was something to do with remembrance.

Minerva's smile had faded over the few seconds that he allowed himself to drift in thought. Now she was simply staring at him, or at least at the window. It was not unintentional either, her eyes peering across the lake into his. They were searching, wondering about him.

Albus could say nothing to this; he'd been doing the exact same thing for nearly half an hour. However, a new thought rose in his mind when he looked at the woman. He had thought it subconsciously before, he knew, but could never quite retrieve the thought. Now he knew where his curiosity was embedded relative to Minerva. He knew those eyes; they were gray.


Minerva had been doing some cleaning in the morning, starting at the bottom of the house, then going to the top. First the kitchen, then the sitting room, followed by the fireplace and downstairs lavatory. Upstairs she did her bedroom, the two spares, and also her own bathroom. It was mostly done by magic, though she did her own part; enough to get her hands wrinkly and clothes dirty, anyhow.

She looked down at her horrid mess of robes. They had been blue at the beginning of the day, now they were nothing but green. Minerva shook her head gently with a frown. She hadn't been that dusty since she'd first entered the ministry. Field work, that's what they'd called it. For an entire year she dragged herself around the world, studying and being quizzed on the catholic topic of Transfiguration. Though it had certainly been an enriching experience, she did not miss the sand storms in Niger—or the Sahara for that matter.

Continuing the shaking of her head, the woman walked into her room, cold, impersonal, and clean, where she sat on the bed gently. She was quite aware that the dust which her clothes had collected was falling everywhere, but it didn't seem to matter at that very second. Minerva was ever so transfixed on the wall. There was nothing more than a small photograph on it, if one would even venture to call it that. The picture of the lake, small and insignificant on such a large wall, called for the woman's attention.

It was one of those pictures that hadn't been left behind so very long ago. Black, white, and gray were the only colors of the photograph, which nearly made the concept laughable. A sunset; what was the good of twilight if there weren't any colors? It was an odd question for an odd picture which seemed to be the only thing of a personal nature in the room.

Minerva looked harder. No, she was not able to see pink or orange or even a sunset for that matter. What she could see, however, was a glare on the water which seemed to lead straight over to a boat—an empty one. A chill ran up her spine, though she could never think of why. Well, perhaps that was a lie, not that she cared to tell anyone.

Hermit Lake, she was at Hermit Lake. It only made sense that there would be such a…lonely picture. Sad as it was, Minerva could not help herself but begin to dwell on the photograph while she sat at the bed. It was only a simple boat, just a little old thing that used oars and carried people from place to place. But it had no one in it and there was an empty sky behind it. There weren't even clouds in the background, just a sky that wished it were colors; instead it was just different tints of gray.

The boat was a metaphor for something and Minerva knew perfectly well what it was; a drifting object in an elliptical world, a lone human. There was no background because the earth was bare and there was no need to deceive onlookers of the picture. There were no dwellers of the area because then there would be no need for a photograph. She saw the genius in the art.

Alone; that was perhaps where the phrase "hermit" came in regards to Hermit Lake. She'd been drawn to the name, she realized, because she knew she was well on her way to becoming one. The unfortunate—and perhaps ironic—bit of her situation was that her deepest fear was in fact being alone. Oh, of course she held no dread for spending two weeks on her own; it was more to the long effect that it haunted her. Minerva never wanted to be alone when she was too old to work. She would never be able to spend all of those nights without anyone. The woman would rather do away with herself than live with that sort of loneliness.

It was imperative that she solve the mystery she'd brought with herself for that very reason. She could not be good for anyone until she had her proper mind and was able to grieve. After all, Minerva had many people to cry for, among them was her mother.

She'd been a sweet woman, the nicest that Minerva had ever come across. Her mother had been the caretaker most of the time, the one which helped the decisions be solved regarding anything from work to man trouble. That was what Minerva missed the most. There was no more mother to cry to at night when things just went so awry that crying was the only answer. And what's more, there was always an answer to be given by her mother, even in those sorts of desperate situations. Now there really was no way to solve anything, except to let life lead its course. Minerva was not entirely sure that she could do that.

The woman took an exceptionally long blink before allowing herself to focus just a little bit longer on the photograph. A boat in a large lake; that's all it was. There really was nothing to it, but Minerva saw through that. She was that little vessel, alone on the lake.

And she really could not help but wonder if it would always be that way.


Albus knocked on the door with a smile on his face.

He was happy to be seeing Minerva again. Though he had indeed watched her for a majority of the morning, she didn't seem to have noticed that he'd been focusing in on the woman. She'd been wearing the same thing from the evening before, a remarkably lacy nightgown no lighter than black. It was an interesting contrast, he'd decided; light skin with dark clothing. The clash made him appreciate more what he saw in the woman. She was conflicted on her own, he knew, but she made it possible for him to realize that. Minerva was a single light, often replaced and forgotten by shadows in the background.

The man had decided that he would not mention his spying from earlier in the day. She could only become angry with him and besides that, there would be plenty of time for him to ask his questions. Minerva had two weeks. He'd know her secrets and dreams and laughter by the end. After all, with who else was she was able to talk?

"Albus," she stated when the door had been opened. It was only a statement, hardly even a welcome. She sounded more surprised than anything.

"Minerva," he nodded gently. "I believe we set up to meet around this time?"

The woman bobbed her head slowly. "Yes, we did. Come in," she softly replied.

He followed her inside and straight to the settee, where he had been the previous evening. She beckoned him to sit down with a hand and he did. Minerva, however, did not follow suit. The woman shrugged. "Would you mind if I went up the stairs to dress? I've uh, been cleaning all morning and am not at my best."

He blinked, really realizing it for the first time. She was covered in clumpy, filmy, dirty dust from toe to shoulder. Cleaning? Merlin, it looked as if she'd been attacked by the dust bunny. Albus nodded his head. "Go right ahead."

The woman smiled a toothless grin. "Feel free to look around."

"I will," he replied gently.

Then Miss Minerva McGonagall ran up the stairs and completely out of sight. Albus waited for a few seconds lest she come back. When he heard no extra footsteps, he did in fact go to explore. The truth was that he was really quite interested in the old house. It had been there for years and not once had he been invited to tour the inside.

There was only the room which he'd seen the evening before and the kitchen. He glanced around the little dining area, noticing how incredibly immaculate it was. Of course, he had no reason at all to expect anything different. Minerva was a perfectionist, hence naturally becoming clean. He did have to give her a nod for having such a beautifully decorated—and probably dusted—kitchen. Merlin knows it beat the hell out of his.

He walked past the table, beyond the counter, and then to the back door. The sun was glaring through it, bright as anything. It lit up the entire room. For a quick second he felt really quite enlightened to just fall asleep in the sun's rays, right on Minerva's kitchen floor. Lord knows what a mistake that would be. So instead of falling asleep, Albus just stood and stared both outside and inside the house. He didn't know how many minutes passed.

"I daresay a kitchen is not as interesting as you make it seem, that is unless you know something I don't."

Albus made a little chuckle. He was not lying the evening before when he told the woman that she had a wonderful sense of humor as a student. Well, perhaps it wasn't so much humor as sarcasm. He turned around slowly, ready to reply. Something stopped him from speaking however, and it was certainly not the lack of words inside of his mind.

Those eyes…they were stuck on him, wide and soft. They were in need of something, though he could not justify what. Albus had not only seen those eyes before, but he'd seen that want inside of them. It was so familiar that he could pinpoint that moment that they'd looked at him like that.

"Don't leave me, please," she said.

"I'll never leave you," he whispered gently. "I love you."

Then it all went blank. Too sad a memory for even him to recall, he chose just to block it all out. Those were some of the last words he'd ever said to her, Ellie. He hated himself sometimes for making such an empty promise. No, he didn't leave her, but she certainly left him.

"Um," he breathed like an idiot, "I'm just looking around." He blinked to himself, begging to quit hallucinating. Minerva had nothing to do with what had happened in the past for him. She was merely standing before him with that first longing, then quizzical look. Unfortunately for him, he knew that stare well.

"So I see," she whispered more gently. For only a second, she looked at him. By this, he did not mean that she merely met eyes with him, no; she took him all in and then maybe saw something that he'd seen. Perhaps Minerva had just foreseen love or attraction or hate or heaven. Albus didn't know, he chose not to read thoughts most of the time. Whatever the case may be, he knew that she saw something just as he did.

Albus cleared his throat gently, but Minerva was the one to speak. "Are you hungry? I can fix something. Sandwich? Toast? Pancakes?" she shrugged.

He blinked. "Is that a real offer or just an attempt to lighten this awkward moment?"

She smiled softly. "It's a real offer."

"Well," he folded his arms, "I'll have whatever you're having."

The woman stared up at him, the beginning of any glare. "Do you like pancakes? I'll have my magic clean it up, so it isn't any trouble."

Albus nodded his head. Of course he liked pancakes! Who in their right mind didn't? Besides that, he thought he'd be in the right to eat what real meals he could. After all, pre-made sandwiches only tasted so good for so long.

"I'd love some."

Then they were off. Albus took the flour, Minerva took the bowl, and magic took the rest. One by one it was all piled into a giant bowl with an enchanted mixing spoon. Coincidentally, white powder was all over the newly cleaned kitchen, but it didn't seem to matter. That is, neither of them seemed to do anything about the mess. Maybe there was just too much going on otherwise.

They were a team. Minerva was the one who controlled the stove, completely by hand. The batter was poured by Albus (a man of absolutely no cooking skills) onto the pan. He watched with amazement as the woman flipped over gorgeously brown clusters of batter to make pancakes—not that he had anything else (or better) to do.

He rubbed his lips together as the intoxicating scent of pancakes filled the air. "Mmm," he sighed. "That smells really good."

She looked up at him, a wide smile on her face. "I seem to remember that you like to eat."

Albus nodded slowly. That he did. He loved food. "If you can cook, my dear, I don't think I shall leave you alone the two weeks that you are here. I'm like an insect; I follow the food."

"Well," she said smoothly, "I won't tell you that I can cook. It will be my secret."

Then she scooped the pancakes onto a plate and handed them to Albus. He looked between the two, really quite…well…aroused, if one wants to put it into those terms. Not only was he thankful for food, but he was incredibly thankful that the woman who'd made them did it for him.

Yes, she'd told him that it was a true offer to make pancakes, but he could see through that. The woman just wanted to be a good host. There weren't any brown fluffy clusters on Minerva's plate like there were on Albus'; she did not even have a plate. It was all for him.

They both sat down at the table across from one another. Albus ate slowly, merely because Minerva spoke to him in that time. She hadn't very much started the conversation the evening before, but it seemed that she was plenty ready to have a word or two with him while he was sitting at her table.

"What is it that you've been up to, Albus? You seem to know all about me, and I know so very little about you. I didn't even really know you as a student in the way that you seem to have known me."

He swallowed down a chunk of fluff. "Well, recently I've been collaborating with some friends at creating a few new potions. However less recently I worked at the school just as always. During the school year I sort of add pages to a book I'm working on, based on Transfiguration, but that's all. There's only so much time a professor has." The man smiled gently at her.

"Yes, you were always busy. You left quite often when I was a student to do ministry work. I was sad those days…mostly because Professor Stanwyck had to cover your classes. He didn't know what in Merlin's name he was doing."

The man chuckled. "Well my dear, he specializes in Arithmetic. You can't have honestly expected a productive class on those days."

"No," she shook her head, "but I was the teacher those days. I taught the class several of your lessons."

"And um," he half chuckled to himself, "how did that go, Minerva? I'm sure you were the talk of the class. You know I caught the other eight students writing a note in collaboration once or twice. It was when you were in your sixth year, I remember because you were a lesson ahead of everyone and the other boys were in their seventh year."

She raised an eyebrow. "Note?"

"Well my dear," he smiled knowingly, "You were the only girl in a class of nine. You do the math. You were the topic of the hour most of the time."

She rolled her eyes. "Well that explains why I had to repeat things about four times before any of them understood it, the dolts," she stopped and looked at Albus, "Did the boys really write notes about me?"

"Oh yes," he nodded, "I confiscated most of them, of course. It's very interesting, sometimes, to see how the teenage mind works." He felt like laughing out loud at the awestruck look the woman was radiating. She really had no clue. "Be thankful, Minerva, that you never saw them. You'd have blasted most of the boys into a million bits. Some of it was even too unadulterated for me. Those notes went directly in the trash and were never seen again."

"Were they really that bad? I-I mean…I don't think I even so much as bumped into any of them."

He shrugged. "The teenage mind works in mysterious ways…that is, using hormones."

Minerva chuckled slightly. "Well I'm glad that I'm out of that stage in life then. I think those boys will be getting a good talk-to when I return. You know most of them work under me and I can do cruel and horrible things to them."

"Don't," he shook his head, "Hire someone to do it for you. In the end it's less messy."

She turned behind, looked at the messy counter and then back at him. "I think men are messy." Then she smiled teeth and all.


Thanks for reading.

I know there are about 200 people who have opened up my story, based on the hit counter, yet I only have gotten twenty reviews. It would make me happy if you could inform me on what you think of this chapter/story if you have not (or even HAVE) reviewed. Can you do that for me? After all, it's the holiday season.