December 24th 1951

Professor Dumbledore had kept true to his word. It was not long after Ivy had left for lunch the previous day that Dumbledore had returned with a tray of sandwiches, sugar mice and chess, and had stayed until Madam Doufant had shooed him out before dinner.

Earlier this morning he had returned a little after breakfast to resume their game and more than once Minerva had caught herself thinking how perfectly easy it was to speak with him, conversation so natural and fulfilling and with silences so devoid of awkwardness. It was as if they did it every day and had done for years.

She reached across the board and took his knight with the rook he had overlooked.

"Madam Doufant is going to let you attend Christmas lunch tomorrow, albeit grudgingly." He said while his eyes scanned the chess board closely.

"Thank goodness for that. I thought I might go mad if I had to stay here."

"You are a very difficult person to say 'no' to, especially if you have been half as insistent as the Headmaster claims."

Minerva tucked her hair behind her ear but refused to meet his gaze.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." She said coolly.

Dumbledore smirked.

"I'm sure."

She had improved dramatically since the day before. She was sitting, cross-legged on top of the covers, without aid of her pillows and could speak and laugh freely without fear of pain or collapse. She had changed from the hospital's night gown into her own clothes and the dark green of her knitted jumper lent far more colour to her face than the stark white. In fact, she looked as healthy as could be, the only indication otherwise was any attempt to take more than a few steps from her bed.

Madam Doufant came every two hours to assist Minerva in a turn about the room. She started off well enough, if a little gingerly, but by the time she had reached the opposite side of the dormitory she was clinging to the matron's arm and moving at a glacial pace. Focused as she was on her patient Madam Doufant still managed to shoot a withering glare at Dumbledore at least twice and, glancing at the clock, he should be preparing himself for another round.

"What do teachers do in their free time?" Minerva asked sincerely, "Surely you aren't constantly plagued by injured students to keep company, you must have hobbies and interests or interesting hobbies?"

"Oh yes, lets see…Professor Beery fancies himself and amateur of the stage as we all rather unfortunately discovered. Professor Slughorn enjoys exercising his social circle and reaping the rewards… Headmaster Dippet makes model ships inside old butterbeer bottles and I have the most interesting pastime of all."

"Oh?" as Albus ordered his king to retreat.

"I tinker with muggle radios." He said such mock seriousness that Minerva could not help but burst out laughing and, unable to keep a straight face, Albus' quiet chuckle soon joined in.

"Bon Dieu… you!" the matron's voice rang through the dormitory and Dumbledore flinched, "Yes. You." She barked, rapping him over the shoulders when she was close enough. "Up. Get up. A boy has lost his finger on the fourth floor… une poignée de porte avec des dents… She must walk."

Dumbledore and Minerva stared at her blankly. The frazzled woman snapped her fingers beneath Dumbledore's nose.

"Now! Try to not kill her." And she hurried out the doors with her wand in her hand, "Cet endroit…" they heard her curse as she stormed away.

"Did she say someone had lost a finger?" Minerva asked cautiously, pushing the chess pieces away.

"That is what I heard." Dumbledore confirmed, somewhat stunned as he offered his hands to help her up.

"Malcolm." She growled as she touched her feet to the floor.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," she looped her arm around his and clung tight with the other as he helped her shuffle around the room, "just… put my brother in detention the moment he gets off the train."

"Am I safe in assuming which brother it is you are talking about?"

Minerva laughed wryly.

"Of course. I don't believe Robert has ever been in trouble a day in his life."

"I was only speaking to the Headmaster yesterday about Robert."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it would seem that he hopes to spend his 6th year on exchange at Beauxbatons Academy in France, apparently they have an excellent introductory Healing program."

"Mmm… he has been learning French via correspondence and practising with Madam Doufant when she isn't too busy. I tried to learn with him but I just couldn't keep up with everything."

"Has he really? That's remarkable, it must be terribly difficult."

"It is but Robert has always been much smarter than me."

"Do you think he could do it?"

"He's only in his fourth year. He hasn't even sat his OWLs yet, he might change his mind but I don't think he will. He's stubborn."

"A stubborn McGonagall? I've never heard of such a thing." He teased and, unable to hit him, Minerva leant into him playfully.

"If anyone can do it, Robert can."

"If I've learnt anything, it is that the McGonagall's can do anything they set their minds to." He gestured for her to lift her gaze from the ground. "Look here, you've made it back already."

Sure enough, Minerva was standing at the foot of her bed again.

"Well I do have to walk all the way downstairs tomorrow." She reasoned.

…

Dumbledore awoke to an insistent tugging on his sleeve. He jerked violently and righted his spectacles to better see what it was that had woken him.

Two very large, very round eyes were staring up at him from somewhere beside his knee, glowing in the faint firelight.

"Mister Dumbledore, sir, he is falling asleep in his chair again." The house elf squeaked, nervously.

"He is indeed." He rumbled, drowsily and from the corner Fawkes hummed under his wing, "What are you doing here so late, Philly?"

"Tis Christmas, sir!" she exclaimed, her ears waving happily. He sat up a little straighter in his armchair and sure enough the little elf had stacked an assortment of brightly wrapped parcels of ranging shapes and sizes at the foot of his bed.

"Thank you for waking me, Philly. You may go." The elf bowed low and was gone with a small 'pop'.

Dumbledore sighed deeply, sorely tempted to drift off to sleep again, when the hint of a familiar red pattern caught his eye. It was a rather large rectangular box wrapped in gold paper with red tartan ribbon. Inspired by curiosity and an unashamedly childish form of Christmas glee he heaved himself out of his chair and pulled it aside.

It was very heavy.

He loosened the bow absentmindedly as he read and reread the handwritten note tucked under the ribbon. If it had not been obvious already, her neat, slanted cursive would have given her away.

Just in case.

Just in case of what, exactly? He could not help but wonder if Minerva's dry sense of humour extended so far as to sending him a cat sized coffin for Christmas.

He needn't had worried.

As the wrappings fell away they revealed a tall mahogany box but it resembled a nightstand more closely than a sarcophagus. He opened the two panelled doors on the front but instead of shelves he was faced with a rather intricate wooden screen set with a dark filigree fabric. He prodded it gently, wondering if it would shift if he forced it, but it gave no sign it wanted to move. On the side of the box was a small metal circle set into the wood, an even smaller square perfectly centred inside it.

Thoroughly bamboozled he scratched his beard.

…

Ivy came down from Ravenclaw Tower early and brought her stack of gifts with her so they could open them together. Sterling, feeling lonely in Gryffindor Tower all by himself, came too.

"Nice to finally see you by my death bed, Barrett." Minerva jested from underneath the pile of paper on her lap, jamming the hand knitted hat from her mother onto her head.

"Nice to see you're not actually dying, McGonagall." He threw back at her along with a small wrapped box.

"Where's mine?" Ivy asked with mock indignation before Sterling tossed her a significantly larger parcel.

With half a liquorice wand handing from her mouth Minerva threw his own gift to him.

"Is this a book? McGonagall I swear-" he tore the paper away, "Of course it is: Excellent Quidditch Players and How to Handle Them. Very funny."

"I thought so." She grinned and opened the box. "New gloves. Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Only if that something is that yours have holes in them."

"They're lucky."

"They're old."

"What did you get Ivy?" she asked leaning over for the box from her father she had been avoiding.

"It's a necklace." She said quietly, showing it to Minerva while Sterling shuffled his feet awkwardly. Resting on a moth eaten cushion was a slightly tarnished thread of silver crawling ivy.

"I saw it in the Junk Shop in Diagon Alley and thought of you." He rubbed the back of his neck, worsening the red tinge slowly creeping up to his face, "The shop-keeper said it blooms in spring sometimes… but he was probably lying…I'm just going to take my book and myself and go put some proper clothes on for lunch. I'll see you down there."

"Sterling wait." Ivy was positively beaming, "It's really lovely. Thank you."

Sterling had the same lopsided smile as when Balthazar had clubbed him up the side of the head with his beater's bat and bumped into the door on his way out. Ivy giggled. Minerva shook her head.

"What's that?" she asked, climbing back onto the bed.

"A gift from my father." Her tone must have given her away because Ivy's sudden euphoria dropped away.

"You know…" she began, "that's why we didn't go home, Sterling and me. It just feels a bit strange sometimes when you get back and your family is so happy to see you but… you have nothing to talk about, nothing in common. Like you're some kind of freak."

"How do you know? About my father, I mean."

"Robert told me. He's not nearly as secretive as you. Did you think we'd hold it against you or something if we knew? Sterling and I are both muggle-born, you don't care. Why would we care that your father is a muggle too?"

"Have you told anyone?"

"Of course not."

"Don't…please. It's just hard, that's all. And it only gets harder the older I get. I love him, I really do. He's my father and I'm his 'wild girl' but…"

"You just keep drifting."

"Yes."

"Well," Ivy grabbed the hands toying with ribbon on the gift she could not bear to open, "Let's see what your father got his 'wild girl', shall we?"

Minerva smiled faintly and nodded. Ivy pulled on the bow and lifted the lid.

"Do I want to see?" Minerva asked.

"Yes. I really think you do."

…

They found a cluster of students already milling about the table when they entered the Great Hall, exchanging chocolate frog cards and showing of their presents. Some had not even changed out of their pyjamas, simply throwing on a jumper or pulling on a school robe, most had made themselves relatively respectable. Minerva gripped Ivy's arm a little tighter, she was beginning to feel very aware of how much she stood out in her emerald robes. Behind her the doors opened again and one of the Slytherin prefects slipped in behind them. Lucan Volantis, was wearing richly embroidered, and obviously new, robes of his own.

"The colour suits you, Minerva." He winked as he passed and found a seat beside Sterling who was staring at his plate eagerly.

"Are you ok, Minerva? Should we sit down? Oh, Merry Christmas Professor Dumbledore, Professor Slughorn, Professor Beery."

Slughorn, reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights, mumbled a reply while attempting to conceal a bottle of mead behind his back. Professor Beery, who had been rendered deaf in one ear after last year's fire, appeared not to have heard her at all and followed along in Slughorn's ample wake. Dumbledore alone returned her Christmas cheer though he seemed to be having considerable trouble remembering her name and his eyes kept flicking between her and Minerva.

"And to you Miss…" Why on earth could he not remember her name? He had taught her for six years now, he had spoken to her yesterday… Ivy Jones!"Jones."

Trying hard not to smile to broadly, Ivy glanced over her shoulder.

"I'd best go find Sterling. Will you be alright Minerva?"

"I'm fine, Ivy. Thank you."

Only now, here in a room full of people, was he aware of just how tall she was. Only a few inches shorter than himself. Her robes rustled as she shifted her weight, they were half a shade darker than the Slytherin green and she had braided her long hair up off of her face but her fringe had already fought its way free. She tucked it behind her ear.

"Did you like your present, sir?" she asked, quietly so as none of her class mates might hear her.

"I admit it has rather baffled me." He confessed, trying not to stare.

Rather than disappointment, triumph lit her face and raised a rare smile.

"Don't you know what it is?" she teased, lightly.

"A trick?"

But she was saved from answering by the arrival of the Headmaster and Albus followed her closely on his way to the staff table as she made her way to a seat between Ivy and Lucan. He sat himself down beside Professor Slughorn who already seemed to be red in the face.

Armando Dippet took his place at the centre of the long table.

"I do hope everyone is enjoying a very Merry Christmas." and he started the feast with a wave of his hand.

The students audibly sighed with delight at the sight of glistening, glazed hams and steaming, roasted turkeys and the hall was suddenly filled with the sound of bangs and pops, shrieks and laughter, and a rather large amount of blue smoke as they tugged on the ends of their crackers.

Dumbledore heard a girl squeal as a colony of bats escaped up into the ceiling. He took the proffered end of the Christmas cracker that Armando was offering him and pulled with enthusiasm leaving the headmaster spluttered in the aftermath and waving away the smoke from his face. Dumbledore offered him the deerstalker cap that had fallen onto his plate but Armando waved it away dismissively and leaned over.

"I must thank you for the cloak, Albus. I was in much need of a replacement."

"Think nothing of it. I appreciate the sweets, by the way. Spindles has always been a favourite."

"I suspected as much." Armando admitted, patting the younger wizard on the back of his hand before reaching for the nearest dish.

Albus swapped the deerstalker cap with Horace, put on his rather smart pilgrim's hat and began piling his plate with turkey and roasted potatoes. He was reaching for the gravy boat when he noticed Minerva transfigure the holly on the side of her cloche hat into a thistle.

She winked quickly when she caught sight of him watching her before turning back to her luncheon. He was brought very quickly back to reality when a stray gesture from Horace knocked his goblet into his lap, Horace; who was retelling a story rather enthusiastically to Professor Beery, did not seem to notice.

By the time pudding had vanished to the kitchens Albus was feeling pleasantly full and was heavily minded to indulge in an afternoon nap. Beside him Horace had been unable to resist that very same urge and had fallen asleep with his face precariously close to his mashed potatoes. Most of the students had peeled away, Miss Jones and Mr Barrett had already left while Minerva and Mr Volantis had continued to chat over whatever was left in their goblets but Mr Volantis' companions seemed eager to return to the Slytherin common room. Minerva had apparently noticed and made to stand up from the table, her fingers were white on the tabletop.

The line of Slytherin boys filed out of the hall as Lucan walked with her to the doors and bid her a good afternoon. Albus excused himself from the table.

Closing the doors behind him, he found her leaning casually against the banister on the landing of the marble staircase.

"Miss McGonagall?" his voice carried a little louder than he would have liked.

She arched one severe brow, "Professor?"

"May I steal a moment of your time?" Her mouth twitched.

"Of course."

She waited patiently on the landing, looking particularly regal, for him to catch up. She looked a touch paler than she had before lunch and he had the impression she was fighting very hard to remain standing. He offered his arm and she took it gratefully.

"This suits you very well," he began, nodding at her robes, "a gift?"

"From my father. Have you had any luck in making that radio of yours work, sir?" she asked innocently enough, though Albus felt like he was walking into a trap.

"Unfortunately when I took it apart… I've rather forgotten how to put it back together again."

She looked up at him with a shadow of genuine disbelief.

"Why a muggle radio, Albus? A wizard made radio works perfectly well within Hogwarts."

"Yes but they rather lack the charm, don't you think?"

"I don't think you sought me out to debate the finer points on radios, sir."

"No," he agreed, "I was rather hoping you could explain the contraption you've sent me."

Minerva smiled. Her eyes were very green.

It was a long walk to the seventh floor.

He opened the door to his study and held it for her. "Ladies first." He reasoned before he helped her into an armchair by the fire. She found the mahogany case underneath the window.

"Have you opened it?" she asked.

"Yes, there are no shelves." She could see his brain working very hard, trying to piece together the riddle before she solved it for him.

"There are not meant to be any. Try opening the lid." she suggested.

The lid? The cautiously approached the box and ran his long fingers over the top, searching for a seam amongst the etchings. Eventually Minerva took pity on him, pulled herself out of the chair and lifted the lid of the gramophone.

Dumbledore's mouth fell open slightly, forming a lopsided circle in a silent 'oh'.

"It's a gramophone," she explained and picked up the z-shaped key tucked away under the lid, "it winds up, with the crank-"she held it up for his inspection before she slotted it into the circle he had been examining earlier, "It doesn't need batteries, or electricity, it just makes music."

She flourished her wand and a flat square parcel materialised in her hand. I meant to give you this too… but it only arrived this morning." She finished apologetically. He was looking at her with a mix of appreciation and what she assumed was a reminder that teachers were not meant to accept gifts from students.

"Don't worry, Professor. I'm not one of the girls who has been sending you notes. I just wanted to say thank you for the lessons and the company and… not letting me die." She trailed off, almost embarrassed. Afraid she had miss stepped she composed herself and made for the door but he raised a hand to stop her.

"Would you show me how it works?"

She nodded to the square in his hand, "You'll need to open that."

Deftly vanishing the wrappings Dumbledore turned the slip over in his hands. Minerva gently took it from him and slid out a large black disk. Set it on the turn table and wound the crank a good few times before turning the needle to the vinyl. Dumbledore barely had time to read the script across the front of the slip before the mournful keening of a lone oboe escaped out from behind the doors of the gramophone.

"It's from Swan Lake… a ballet, my favourite ballet." She explained.

"You've seen a ballet?" he asked curiously, seemingly mesmerised as he watched the record spin round and round.

Minerva sat down on the arm of the chair

"Every year. My father brings us all to London over the summer, just before we come back here. My mother will take Robert and Malcolm to Diagon Alley and I go to the ballet with my father." She glanced up at him, gauging his reaction but he was impassive.

"I love the opera." He confessed, "I often used to go with Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel."

"The alchemist?"

"The very same. We were meant to see La Traviata but we had arrived to London late and the tickets had all been sold. It was Perenelle who suggested that, rather than spoil a perfectly good evening, we simply watch something else. La Traviata is a particular favourite of mine and so it was only begrudgingly that I agreed.

"We saw Swan Lake. I had never seen a ballet before but I was mesmerised from the moment the curtain drew back. That was many years ago now and I've seen a great number of ballets since but none have ever compared."

"It is like magic."

"Minerva?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."