Minerva's seventh year at Hogwarts had been much different from her sixth year. When she'd come back from the summer she'd hardly been able to escape her classmates with her friends. Everyone knew that she'd been with Albus when he defeated Grindelwald and they all wanted to hear about it first hand. She obliged people, hoping that they would then go away and leave her to enjoy some quiet time with the last of her friends—Hermes and Malcolm, who was unknown to her still hoping to win back her affections—but then people just wanted to hear the story again. They loved to hear her tell about Grindelwald the coward and how the great Albus Dumbledore had defeated him. There was no one in the world more admired than Albus Dumbledore. He had to endure far more attention than Minerva did, for he was the reason she was getting an unusual amount of attention in the first place.

It died down for Minerva. By the time her sixth year was ending and Hermes and Malcolm were leaving her for good, people had finally tired of her telling the story. Albus was still as popular as ever, however, and he continued to be, straight through Minerva's seventh year.

It was unfortunate for Minerva. She'd never gotten along particularly well with the students in her year and was not really friends with any of the younger students. She spent much of her time reading alone. When she was not doing that, she was working the Gryffindor quid ditch team the hardest they'd ever been worked. It was the only thing that was anywhere near social that she engaged in.

Albus hated to see Minerva like that. She'd been far happier with friends in her previous years. Now she just seemed lonely. Whenever he could get away from the fanfare that seemed to follow him everywhere, even in Hogwarts, he would invite her to his office for a game of chess. She seemed far happier when they were playing chess together, though he had to admit there was something incomplete about that happiness. There was something that bothered her even then, but he had no real idea what it was. He'd tried to ask once, but she'd been exceptionally evasive.

He'd never broached the question again. He'd simply done what he could to distract her from whatever it was that was bothering her. He'd yet to be successful but he certainly kept trying.

Even with Albus' best efforts however, that distant and distracted look Minerva wore remained and at times became even worse. He had many ideas left yet to try and pull such a talented student away from her problems but there was little time with which to try them. He was constantly being pelted by people and owls. Everyone wanted his attention and he could not simply ignore it as he wished to.

So even despite Albus' best efforts, Minerva spent much of her seventh year reading alone as unnoticed as she could make herself. At the best of times, she was reading letters from Dan, Hermes or Muriel. At the worst of times she was reading a book. Malcolm had not written her once since near the end of the summer. He'd finally given up on the woman in love with a much older man.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva had never had much in the way of uses for dances. She'd almost not come to the dance that Headmaster was holding in honor of the school finally being fully repaired from the Grindelwald's attack two years earlier. When Albus had mentioned seeing her there with that twinkle sparkling in his crystal clear blue eyes, she'd felt compelled to nod her compliance at him and put in an appearance here.

So here she was, in scarlet dress robes, not enjoying herself at all and wishing she had a book. Amongst all the people, she'd been unable to catch sight of Albus. She was certain that was because he was somewhere deep in the center of all those people. He always was.

There was nothing enjoyable about being here. She wondered why she did not leave.

She knew quite well why she did not leave. It was Albus. She wanted to see him. She even had this vain and silly hope that she might be able to dance with him this evening.

This entire thing was silly. She would like nothing better than to be here on the arm of the greatest sorcerer in the world. The man that every other woman in the world wanted as well and who was her teacher. Her love for him was a useless, distracting thing and completely inappropriate. Yet she could not help herself. Love was just one of those things a person could not fight. So she sat quietly as a table on the sidelines, wishing that Albus was sitting next to her, whispering in her ear about how beautiful she looked.

It was a wonderful thought. It would never happen, but it was wonderful.

"Hey, Minerva," said a gangly young redhead in his fourth year.

"Hello, Richey," she replied, he hazel eyes coming to rest lazily on Dan's younger brother and her quid ditch team's Keeper.

"Why aren't you dancing, Minerva?"

Minerva smirked. Richey was very unlike Dan. He was far less boisterous, more the shy concerned sort of person. He would be worrying about her. "I haven't wanted to."

"But this is a celebration," he said with wide brown eyes.

"I know."

"There are lots of people who'd be happy to dance with you. You should dance and be happy. You've sat around all depressed and lonely all year."

"I've not been depressed."

"Oh," said Richey with what sounded like surprise. "Will you dance with me then?"

She laughed. It was one of the few times she'd laughed all year. Even in quidditch practice, or when she was playing chess with Albus, she'd rarely laughed. Richey was good at pulling laughs out of her, though. He was so unassuming and charming

"Sure."

So she took Richey's hand and began dancing with the boy.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Even as the music really started to reach its peak and it was at the time when most people should be dancing, Albus found himself still surrounded by people---most of them of the female persuasion.

He was asked often to dance, and being a polite person, he accepted. He'd already danced more times than he could count. For this dance, he'd politely declined about ten or twenty requests to dance and was sitting at the teachers' table talking idly with the Headmaster.

His eyes moved across the dance floor, watching the many people as they went by. Teachers and students alike waltzed slowly by. Albus caught the eye of the Muggle studies professor, Dagon Spike, and nodded at the young man as he danced closely with the flying instructor Persephone Rayce. How long had those two been married now? It had to be at least eight years now. Their son was nearly three.

Albus was surprised Persephone's sister, Andromeda, their rather different herbology teacher dancing with one of the male teachers. It was well known among the staff members (as well as some of the students, or so Albus suspected) that their petite blonde herbology professor had no interest in men whatsoever.

That was not nearly so odd of a sight, however, as that of a tall brunette girl dancing with a boy who was a little shorter than she and had red hair that clashed with her scarlet dress robes.

My god was that . . . ?

Albus went silent, staring at the Head Girl as she danced with the young Richard Weasley. Armando kept talking to him, and he knew that he was, but he had no idea what the man was saying, nor did he care. He could not take his eyes, or mind, off of Minerva, though he did not know why.

"Albus?"

Someone was saying something to him, but Minerva was dancing happily with that boy nearly right in front of the table. She had a smile on her face the likes of which he had not seen on her in just months. He'd forgotten how becoming she was when she smiled. It had become such a rarity.

"Albus!"

Albus turned his head towards Armando. He'd suddenly noticed that the headmaster had been trying to get his attention. "Yes, Armando?"

"My God, boy, where has that mind of yours been? I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes!"

"Forgive me, Armando, I was distracted . . ."

The frail old Headmaster waved a thin hand. "You were probably inventing some new use for dragon's blood. You are something else, Dumbledore. I couldn't ask for a more brilliant Deputy."

Albus nodded, but his eyes had again taken focus on Minerva. He continued his conversation with Armando, but his eyes never left her graceful form.

The song ended and Albus excused himself from Armando's company. Minerva had just sat back down at her table

"Good evening, Minerva," he said with a smile.

"Hello, Professor," she replied and smiled back. She always insisted on calling him Professor when they were not alone. He suddenly wondered why.

"Would you, um . . ."

Why was he suddenly tongue tied. How silly. At least Minerva was laughing pleasantly.

He cleared his throat. "Dance with me, my dear."

She raised an eyebrow at him. He took that as an acceptance of his offer. He took her hand and lead her onto the dance floor.

He'd not enjoyed any of his dances that night nearly so much as he enjoyed this one with Minerva. She was quite an excellent dancer.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"I used to dance with my father."

Suddenly he felt like a clod. He knew Minerva still felt grief at the death of her father. It was something that would stay with her for a long while yet.

He steered the conversation elsewhere, making her laugh as much as he could. He'd not see her so relaxed and happy in a very long time. Even when she was dancing with Mr. Weasley she had not been smiling the way she was now. She was positively shining.

The dance ended too soon for Albus' taste and he was swept away by another student, another dance partner. Minerva went and sat down again. He danced with the other girl, one of Ravenclaw Prefects, but his eyes did not leave Minerva. Nor did hers leave him.

There did not come an opportunity for them to speak again that evening, and by the time spoke again it was nearly a week later as they played chess. Things had returned to normal and it was as though the dance had never happened at all.