A/N: Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me so far. I hope you are still enjoying yourselves. I'd just like to put in a special mention to stormtrooper1, dsky, GONEiam and DeansgirlSN. You guys have no idea how valued your encouragement is. Thank you.

The Rogue, the Wretched and the Reckless

December 19th 1951

Sprinting at top speed down the seventh floor corridor Minerva failed to notice the little man with a lurid orange bowtie hovering over the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy until she had crashed into the suit of armour he had thrust into her path. With a cry she somersaulted over the breastplate and, throwing out her arms to break her fall, skidded along the carpet.

The poltergeist cackled madly. Minerva groaned. Her nose full of the smell of musty carpet and the wind knocked out of her. Cursing quietly she pulled herself gingerly to her feet; rubbing her wrist.

"Did you have a nice TRIP!" he taunted clutching his side, the bells of his hat jingling.

"Peeves!"

But Peeves hooted wildly, pulling his hair and kicking out his feet.

"And an ickle prefect!" he exclaimed, overjoyed at his fortuitous catch. "What fun!"

"Peeves-" but whatever threat she was about to hurl was lost as Peeves took aim with what looked suspiciously like one of professor Simza's crystal balls.

"Opprimo!" she cried without thinking.

Peeves screeched in surprise as he was knocked against the wall and held in place as if by invisible hands. Several times he flashed in and out of sight as if hoping becoming invisible would free him but Minerva's spell held.

"Not fair." He croaked, "Poor Peevsie has no wand."

"Heaven help us if you did." She muttered, looking about for her own wand, "What are you doing here, Peeves?"

"Nothing your perfectness." He simpered though, with his impish smile, was not convincing.

"I'd hate to have to fetch the Baron…"

The red fury in his face seemed to melt away at the mention of the Bloody Baron and he suddenly looked more a ghost than poltergeist. But from the corner of her eye she caught sight of an all too familiar blonde head seemingly melt out of solid stone.

"MALCOLM McGONAGALL!" she bellowed.

Stunned, her concentration slipped and Peeves broke free from her enchantment. He dropped his sack full of crystals and whizzed down the corridor like a balloon with the air let out. The blonde boy stopped dead in his tracks, one foot still in the air. He spun round and fixed a roguish grin on his round face.

"Aww come off it. Walter said you weren't on duty tonight!" he grinned even more broadly, mischief dancing unrestrained across his features. He was tall for his age with large eyes the same shade of green as his sisters but it was there that their resemblance ended.

Malcolm had sandy coloured hair like their mother with her delicate nose and happy, upturned mouth to match. Where Minerva and Robert were thin and lanky, Malcolm was broad shouldered and muscled. He was easy to rouse in anger and had an intense talent for making trouble but he was kind where Minerva was stern and, though he frustrated her immensely (and seemed to take great delight in doing so) and while she would never admit to it; she was deeply fond and even a little proud of her youngest brother.

"What are you doing out here?" she demanded, finally spotting her wand on a patch of worn carpet and quickly restoring the suit of armour back to its place with a measured wave of her wand.

"Nothing." He answered quickly, stuffing his hand and a blood stained handkerchief deep in his pocket, but his attention snapped to a small piece of folded parchment between them. Minerva's heart skipped a beat and thudded loudly under her ribcage.

"What is-" but before he could even take a step for it,

"Accio!" and it soared neatly into her outstretched hand.

Malcolm's grin dropped only slightly but his tone became much more inquisitive, "if you're not doing prefect things… then why are you out?" he asked airily, rocking backwards and forwards on his feet. Skilled as he was at making mischief Malcolm was also unfailingly swift at spotting when someone was doing something they shouldn't be. While nothing Minerva was doing would land her in trouble she did not have the time or desire to explain to Malcolm that she met up with Professor Dumbledore on a Wednesday and what she did there with him not the mention that he would delight in spreading salacious rumours if he was ever given the chance and so she swallowed her pride and lied.

"Nothing." She replied, jamming the parchment into the pocket of her trousers, her voice just a touch too high and airy to be casual.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, clearly unconvinced but seemed devilishly amused at his sister's secrecy…

"Nothing eh? Well then… I guess I never saw you… and you never saw me?" he tried.

Her mouth pursed in such a tortured, Minerva-ish way that Malcolm let out a bark of laughter.

"Oh… very well" she finally conceded. Malcolm began to walk away from her slowly, backwards with his hands still behind his back.

"But so help me, Malcolm if I hear about a single doorknob with teeth!" she warned. He grinned even more broadly.

"I'll see you on the train." He winked and disappeared around the corner.

…

"I'm sorry I'm late, Professor!" she gasped when she burst through the door five minutes later. Dumbledore raised himself up from his chair and surveyed her warmly over his spectacles.

"Not to worry not to-" but his smile faltered, "What have you done to yourself, Minerva?"

Minerva glanced down at her wrist. It had started to pain her quite a lot and she realised she was gripping it very tightly.

"Oh," she let go and winced as her whole arm throbbed, "I ran afoul of Peeves on my way here."

Dumbledore shook back the sleeve of his robes to free his hand.

"May I?" he asked quietly, indicating for her arm. Somewhat surprised she offered up her hand and he took it very tenderly into his grip. He examined the swollen joint critically, carefully. Turning it this way and that. She was not quite sure where to look. She watched his hands for a moment; fluttering gently over her skin, then shifted her gaze to his face but, finding it very close to her own, averted her eyes back down. His hands were soft. And warm. The first finger of his right hand had a smudge of ink on. He must have been writing, she thought then flushed slightly for a reason she was not quite certain of.

Without looking up he removed his wand from a fold in his robes and placed the tip at her aching wrist.

She gasped as her whole arm flooded with heat and then chilled as quickly as if she'd plunged it in the snow outside.

"I'm sorry." He said quickly, jerking away his hands.

"No." she amended hastily, "You didn't hurt me, I just… it was broken?" she asked rolling her wrist experimentally. It bent and moved without any difficulty.

"Indeed." Dumbledore pocketed his wand.

"Huh… I've never broken a bone before." Satisfied that her arm was as good as it had ever been she extracted her notes from her pocket.

"Not in all your years racing about the quidditch pitch?" he asked, smiling once more.

"Not once." She smoothed the crumpled parchment on the desk and stepped back for his inspection.

Albus pushed back his sleeves and traced the lines of her immaculate hand with his fingertips.

"I've checked and double checked," she murmured as he scrutinised her work. "All my equations are flawless." He nodded in agreement. "My incantations are sound." He hummed what sounded like a positive noise but she shifted her weight back and forth anxiously nonetheless.

"I'd like to try…" he stiffened slightly as she spoke but his tone was pleasant when he looked up.

"Yes, I thought you might." He straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back. His beard twitched slightly as he examined her closely over his spectacles.

"You… You'll let me." She was taken aback. She had thought, hesitant as he had been through the entire course of their work together, Dumbledore would forestall her until at least after Christmas.

"My dear, would I ever had been able to stop you?" he was smiling now and she felt her own face split in glee.

"I am sure you could if you tried hard enough, Albus." It still felt strange using his first name and she avoided it when she could. It felt far too familiar.

"Ah but then you would proceed without me and that, Minerva, I simply could not abide." He gave her a funny little smile that struck her somewhere in the stomach and she averted her gaze as her cheeks flushed again.

She shook herself, hoping it would simply look as if she were preparing herself. She drew her wand, straightened her spine and dropped her shoulders. Dumbledore nodded encouragingly, his eyes never left hers. He looked tense, like a coiled spring; ready to react at a moment's notice.

Her heart was hammering. She did not need her notes, she'd never memorised anything more completely in her life, but she could not dispel the fluttering in the depths of her belly and she was at a complete loss as to whether it was nerves or not.

Clutching her wand tight in her hand she started her spell with an uncharacteristic jerk. Albus watched her wand cut through the air in tight, elaborate patterns. Her movements were rehearsed and stiff and he could see her eyes following in the wake of her wand, her lips were twitching but no sound came forth.

Minerva's arm lowered gently back to her side. She was sure neither of them drew breath. The air between them was tense and heavy. She exhaled slowly. She did not feel any different. She was not sure if she should. Minerva glanced over to Albus; his eyes had narrowed but he gave no indication she should stop.

She swallowed past the bump in her throat and closed her eyes.

Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate on what? I must look such a fool. Come on.

Desperately she willed something, anything to happen.

What if I did something wrong? What if it didn't work?

She squeezed her eyes tighter and held her breath; face red with effort and then…

She felt herself plummeting through darkness and gasped in surprise but before she could draw in another breath she felt her chest being compressed as if she were being squeezed through a very tight rubber tube. Her head felt as if it might burst. There was no air in this void of nothingness. Nothing to fill up her lungs. Every muscle, every ligament strained and threatened to pull away from her bones. The panic that was flooding her brain was dissipating with light-headedness. There were bursts of light behind her eyes and then… nothing.

…

The light was blinding.

Minerva was first aware of the immensely blue eyes, dark with concern, mere centimetres above her face. Half an instant later she recognised that the floor was beneath her and she was very cold. But something was wrong. She couldn't breathe.

The blue gaze swam dizzily and she closed her eyes, willing it to stop.

"Minerva! Minerva! Can you hear me?"

The voice was fuzzy… and drifting further and further away…

She opened her mouth to answer but it was so much easier to let the void sweep her away.

"Minerva!"

A distant whisper.

Something was shaking her but it barely registered…

It was much easier to fall asleep…