Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, as usual, but this chapter is hopefully enough for me to earn your forgiveness. It's quite a long one, too :) Thank you so so so so much to my wonderful reviews, I love you all :D Keep reviewing, and enjoy :)

NOTE: I have included a link in my profile to some drawings of Minerva's dress robes. They aren't coloured and they quality is not the best, but they are better than the description in the chapter. I'm not an artist, but I had an urge to draw her robes, so feel free to look at that. :P (P.S. I'm really bad at faces, so I didn't give Minerva one :P)

Take the Dragon by the Horns

It was foolish, really, Minerva thought. It was a flimsy, whimsical thing to do, not at all what people usually expected of her. The long-established habits in her rejected the thought.

And yet, the notion appealed to her somehow. Perhaps it was because she knew she would be reasonable, appropriate; or perhaps because it was the logical thing to do – if one was the sort of person who did such things.

Minerva was shopping.

Or at least, she was going to be. Her old tartan dress robes were worn and, though very dear to her (all of her tartan things were), sadly in need of replacement. She'd be wearing tartan somewhere on her person during the Ball, of that she could reassure herself, so it didn't feel of total betrayal to buy new robes. She was sensible enough to see that attending the most important function of the year in tatty old robes could only have negative effects – not just on herself, but for Hogwarts as well. Still, she wasn't accustomed to this.

Unlike her friends.

They'd gone shopping the other day, Poppy, Pomona, and herself, but Minerva had found it less than productive. She'd refused her friends' suggestion to look in Gladrags Wizardwear, saying that their 'vintage' clothes were far from what she was looking for. They'd seen that she wouldn't budge, and so had tried other places. Minerva had just about decided that if she couldn't find anything in Hogsmeade, she'd have to go to London and visit Diagon Alley – something she never did during the school year unless it was an emergency.

Now, however, she was enjoying a last drink with her brother in the Three Broomsticks, in Hogsmeade. It had been his last weekend at the castle, and the repair work was done. None of the other staff knew of her brother's departure, and Minerva was particularly loathe to tell Trudy. They would find out soon enough. Bran had no quarrel against it.

'I suppose this is it,' Minerva said when they had drained their glasses and were standing out in the street. 'Don't Splinch yourself.'

''Course not,' Bran said cheerfully. He sobered up a bit as he looked into his sister's face. 'Cheer up, Min, it's nearly Christmas.'

Minerva nodded. 'Yes, I know. Do take care of yourself, won't you?' Bran nodded and put a hand on her shoulder.

'I will, don't worry about me,' he told her with a smiled. 'And I'll see you at the Gratitude Ball, don't forget.'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' Minerva said dryly, and Bran laughed. They embraced as Bran started to leave.

'You're a McGonagall through and through, Minnie lass,' he said in his thickest Scottish brogue. 'Take care o' yourself now.' He smiled and walked away.

'When 'ave I ever done otherwise?' Minerva shouted in a thick accent of her own. There was a crack, and Bran was gone, his laughter still echoing down the street.

Minerva stood in the street for a moment, staring at the place where her brother had been. Then, with an inaudible sigh, she turned and walked away in a swirl of emerald robes.

A quiet bell tinkled as the door opened, breaking the silence of the shop. A gust of December wind rattled the doorframe as the customer stepped inside. She eyed the store critically before taking another few steps in. Madam Ethelfleda watched from the shadows. This was the moment she'd been preparing for.

The witch in green robes slowly browsed through the racks of robes, not really looking at any one thing, obviously not in serious consideration. Ethelfleda had heard the witch outside the shop a few days ago, refusing to go in. She smiled smugly to herself that the witch was here now.

After a few minutes, it became apparent that this witch with the square glasses was not going to be making a purchase by herself. She would soon leave if she had nothing to show for her casual examination of Gladrags' clothing. Ethelfleda decided it was time to intervene.

'Hello.' The witch turned, her startled expression already hidden behind one of cool indifference. Ethelfleda smiled as she took another step out of the shadows. 'May I be of assistance?'

The witch hesitated for just a moment, clearly debating with herself. She obviously did not want to request aid, but Ethelfleda also sense that this witch was getting rather desperate for a new robe. She smiled. This would have to be done carefully. This witch was not one to be forced into anything.

'Perhaps you can just tell me what you're looking for, hmm?' the elderly madam suggested lightly. 'A new robe, perhaps?'

'Dress robes,' the witch finally said, somewhat stiffly, smoothing her green robes around her. She looked somewhat haughty as she gazed at Madam Ethelfleda, but the Gladrags' owner did not take it personally.

'Perhaps this section here?' she suggested, though she already had a robe made for this witch. It wouldn't do to mention that this early in the game, though. That was her last move. The tall witch frowned and moved in the direction that Madam had suggested. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

'Thank you,' she said, looking through the rack with a tad more interest. Madam let that go on for a few minutes, bustling around the shop, which she had kept carefully empty today. The quiet rustling of robes was all that was to be heard. Finally, Ethelfleda offered her assistance.

'Perhaps this one here?' she suggested, coming to stand next to the witch and selecting a deep blue robe with silver trim. The witch eyed it for a moment.

'No,' she said decidedly. 'Blue's not my colour.' Ethelfleda hid a satisfactory smile. So the witch had decided to accept some help after all. This would be highly enjoyable.

'Then perhaps a violet?' she suggested, and it began.

Robes were chosen and discarded, tried on and rejected. The changing room was piled high with cast off robes, the curtain opened and closed frequently. The closest they came to success was a deep red robe that flared out near the bottom and had high slits in the billowing sleeves. The witch tried it on twice, but they eventually discarded it in mutual agreement that the maroon hue did not suit the witch's pale complexion.

The witch, surprisingly, did not tire or grow impatient, as her sort often did. The minutes turned to one half-hour, which grew in number to two, then three, and before they knew it two hours had passed with little success. But the witch was surprisingly patient, and had a strange gleam in her eye that suggested she may have been enjoying herself – of course, she'd deny it to anyone who asked.

'So, no blue, yellow, maroon, or orange?' verified Madam Ethelfleda, summarizing what they'd concluded during the past two hours. She shuddered visibly at the mention of orange; she may have had eclectic taste, but bright orange robes were not part of them.

'Yes,' confirmed the witch. 'And definitely no sleeveless robes, low necklines, or transparent skirts.' Ethelfleda nodded. This, too, they'd already had established.

Perhaps it was time.

Professor McGonagall was quite surprised by herself. She was a witch who knew herself through and through, who strode through life with self-confidence envied by many. She was always certain and deliberate, sensible and no-nonsense. She knew herself, and she wasn't in the habit of questioning that now.

Still the fact remained that she had somewhat enjoyed the past few hours. Her patience hadn't run aground and her scepticism had taken a back seat. She suspected that perhaps she wouldn't have been so patient had she not sensed that the elderly woman helping her possessed a thorough understanding of what she was talking about. She was a true professional; that was something Minerva could appreciate.

'You know, I have this dress,' the elderly woman began thoughtfully, as though the thought had just struck her. 'I hadn't thought of it before, but perhaps….you would like to see?' Minerva sensed something odd about the speech and its careful deliverance, but she had come to trust this woman despite herself, and so nodded.

'Why not?' she allowed, and waited while the woman hurried off with a speed that belied what must have been her many years. She did not have long to wait. Soon the click of heels announced the witch's return.

'Here we are,' she said, arms full of the robe. 'I myself made this a while ago…I think perhaps it's you, no?' Minerva raised her eyebrows. The sales witch hadn't held it up for Minerva to see, but what instead cradling it carefully to her chest as though it were an infant.

'No, you must try it first, no sneaky-peeking,' the woman said, her eyes sparkling.

'Fine,' Minerva replied. She snatched the robe and stalked off to the change room. She shed her emerald robes quickly, pulling the new robe on just as fast. She paused only long enough to check that it wasn't indecent in any way before stepping out and regarding herself in the mirror.

Minerva did not see the sales witch's smug smile, the triumph gleaming in her eyes. She kept her eyes on herself.

It was now that Minerva realized she'd been looking for the wrong thing. She hadn't been looking for a dress to make her beautiful, so to speak, but at least something that would make her look fancy, more attractive – which was precisely what she didn't need. What she needed happened to be what she was wearing.

The robes consisted of two parts, as robes often did: an under-robe and an over-robe. The former one of this particular set was black and sleeveless, with a tall, slender shape to match Minerva's thin figure. The neckline was sharp and high, and empty in the place where a brooch would go – Minerva already knew which brooch she would wear. The length was such that it brushed the ground.

The over-robe was dark green and heavy. The sleeves were long and thin, wrapping around her arms. Its length was shorter than that of the black one, ending a few inches above the ground. There was a thin, light green tartan sash she'd wrapped around her narrow waist. The robes were the same weight as her usual ones, and felt comfortable and familiar. In fact, the whole ensemble was so Minerva-esque she knew it had been made specifically for her.

The store owner stood smiling behind her. 'I will bring it to the front for you, no?' she said, something like a grin on her wrinkled face. Minerva nodded curtly and swept for the dressing room. She was finished with this shopping business – thank Merlin.

'Go away,' Minerva snapped, and had it been anyone else it would have sounded very rude. But that was Minerva, curt and to-the-point, and Poppy didn't take her seriously. She pushed past her friend and looked her up and down.

'You're a fiendish creature, Minerva,' Madam Pomfrey said, scowling. Minerva had pulled on her cloak (yes, the one Albus had given her) in anticipation of her friends' early – too early, she thought haughtily – arrival before the Ball. It hid her from Poppy's probing eyes. Pomona wasn't much more pleased.

'Humph. If that's the way you want it, Minerva, I won't argue with you,' the Hufflepuff Head said. 'But you must promise to tell absolutely everything afterwards.'

'If that is what it takes,' Minerva replied crisply. 'I insist on one stipulation, however.'

'Oh?' said Pomona, raising her eyebrows.

'Yes,' Minerva confirmed. 'Wait until tomorrow – and leave right now.'

'That's two,' complained Poppy as Minerva ushered them out.

'Is it?' Minerva said in an unnaturally light voice – which was their clue to detecting her heavy sarcasm. 'My mistake. Now out.'

Grumbling, the two witches departed, already dressed in their Ball attire. For Pomona, this implied a cheery brown dress robe and the cleaning of her fingernails. Poppy sported clean, dark blue dress robes and a silver necklace.

Minerva shut the door and glanced at the clock. Albus was picking her up at quarter to seven; it was twenty to seven now, and she knew he would not be late.

Minerva smiled slightly to herself as she removed the cloak and adjusted the brooch at her neck. She knew she'd confused Dumbledore by kissing his cheek at the snowball fight, she could tell that much. She also knew that he had wanted to kiss her properly, and she'd be lying if she said she had wanted to hinder his attempts.

Her relationship with Albus was a difficult one to define, these days, but Minerva wasn't particularly bothered. She was a Gryffindor, after all; she liked adventure. (Just not the life-threatening kind – it had been all-too abundant during the last school year.)

The Gratitude Ball was tonight, and despite herself, Minerva was looking forward to it. Minerva had always had a slight mischievous side; a bit of a wicked sense of humour. She liked to unsettle people who were calm and pretentious and, as her mother would have said, 'hoity-toity politicians'. She would certainly be sparking rumours by attending the Ball on Albus' arm, even if she wasn't quite sure was he meant by it yet.

Ah, well. Figuring that out was half of the fun.

A knock at her door signalled Albus' arrival. Minerva glanced at the clock. Well, well. He was right on time. She picked up her cloak, which had only been for her friends' benefit, straightened her glasses, and went to the door.

Dumbledore stood at the other side. He wore midnight-blue robes with silver trim and a twinkle in his blue eyes. His beard and hair shone brightly in the corridor – but his smile was brighter.

'Minerva,' he greeted her, producing flowers from nowhere as he looked her up and down, 'you are truly beautiful, my dear.' Minerva accepted the bouquet with thanks, drawing her wand to send it off to a vase.

'Thank you,' she replied, offering her hand to his. Instead of taking it, he kissed the back, smiling slyly, and she knew he hadn't forgotten the snowball-cheek-kissing incident. She hid a wicked smile. So, he wanted to play.

'You're not going to say the same of me?' he asked archly, offering her his arm as they made their way down the corridor.

'It would taste a lie,' she said in reply. 'One could hardly call you beautiful, Albus.'

'My darling Minerva, you wound me,' he said, but his beard twitched with a smile. 'What could 'one call me', as you so elegantly phrased it?'

'Tall, and thin, I suppose,' Minerva retorted, filing away 'my darling Minerva' for later examination. Her face was expressionless but for her eyes, which gleamed mischievously. The students would never have believed it.

'The same could be said of you, my dear,' Albus pointed out, and rightly so.

'We could be siblings,' Minerva said indifferently, shrugging off his observations. After all, she'd observed the same herself.

'Oh, I'd hardly call you a sister, Minerva,' Albus grinned, dropping her arm to slide his own around her waist. 'And I will admit that I am rather grateful for that.'

'Oh?' Minerva sniffed dispassionately. 'As am I, I suppose. Then I should have to share your looks.'

Dumbledore laughed outright at that. 'Minerva, you are a cold-hearted lass. What can I do to melt your heart?'

'I'm afraid I can't tell you,' Minerva answered in her odd way of joking as they descended the steps to the front lawn. 'I've never told anyone, and I certainly won't begin now.'

'Is that why you are here, beside me, instead of married to some infinitely lucky sod of wizard?' Albus questioned, smiling again.

'Indeed. You've been cursed,' answered Minerva, but she tightened her grip on his arm. They were floundering about in uncharted waters, and she felt the sudden need to ground herself. If Albus noticed, he said nothing.

'A curse I accept with delight,' he said. 'I may not know how to melt your heart, Minerva, but I think I shall start with a hug. I've heard they can be warm little things.' So saying, he dropped her arm and turned to her. Minerva paused for a moment, reading his eyes, and then stepped forwards into his arms.

It felt oddly final, that last little step, like some decision had been made. For a moment she felt a rush of irrational happiness, before she brought herself back to Earth and knew nothing had happened. His arms felt nice, though. Albus, for his turn, thought she smelled lovely. And her thin waist fit in his arms very nicely. It was a moment for either of them moved.

'Your carriage awaits, milady,' Albus said with a bow, breaking his hold on her and careful to make his reluctance obvious. 'Or, in our charming case, the Apparition point.'

'How romantic,' Minerva said curtly, having no use for flowery romance or anything of the sort.

'I strive to please you,' Dumbledore replied, and it was simply strength of character that neither of them in any way acknowledged the double-entendre – at least out loud.

They were perfectly on time, as the Ball had been scheduled to commence at seven; and yet, if sheer number was anything to go by, one would have thought the Ball had been going on for hours. This, or course, made Albus Dumbledore's entrance noticeable (though it would have been in any case), much more so than normal.

And he entered with Minerva McGonagall on his arm, who looked for all the world like the cat that ate the canary.

Damn, but they were going to enjoy this.

It was a little while later when the dancing began. Minister Shacklebolt had welcomed everyone, thanked them for coming and briefly (to Harry's relief) stated the reason for the Ball. Then Harry said a few words (nothing very articulate) and the Ball began.

'May I have this dance, Minerva?' Albus asked, offering her his hand as the music started.

'I expect so,' Minerva replied, taking his proffered hand. She was acutely aware of a crowd of witches watching them closely. As Minerva and Dumbledore passed them on their way to the floor, she looked at them haughtily.

'People with common courtesy are a dying breed,' she said curtly, as if to Albus, but the witches looked flustered as they flushed red and moved off. Minerva raised her chin a fraction of an inch and looked mildly pleased. She glanced at Albus, who was smiling at her.

'Just start dancing,' she snapped, and he chuckled and put his hand at her waist. They began to dance, in time to the music and in synchronization with the other couples on the floor.

'Cuddle fish,' Dumbledore remarked conversationally as they danced. Minerva looked at him.

'I'm sorry?' she said, eyebrows raised.

'Cuddle fish,' the older man repeated. 'I find it helpful to start off a conversation with a nice objective word. It seems to make it easier to move on to more intelligent dialogue.'

'Does it not seem ironic to you to use 'cuddle fish' as a gateway to intelligent conversation?' Minerva replied, deliberately arching an eyebrow.

'Of course,' Dumbledore promptly replied, a grin on his face. 'That's what makes it so delightful.'

'You're mad,' Minerva informed him.

'So I've been told,' he answered cheerfully. 'It's terribly good fun.'

'There are other ways to amuse oneself,' Minerva told Albus. 'I suggest you look into them.'

'Such as purposefully attending the most popular event of the decade on the arm of a famous wizard to rile up everyone else?' Albus asked, his eyes piercing through her.

Minerva scowled. He knew everything, the stupid git. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she replied, feigning indifference.

'I rather think you most of everything, Minerva,' Dumbledore replied, smiling. 'Pretended ignorance isn't really your best angle.'

'Subtlety was never my strong suit,' Minerva answered with a shrug.

'No,' agreed Dumbledore. 'You're more the sort to take the dragon by horns, so to speak.'

'I should hope so,' Minerva responded. 'Sneaking around never did anyone any good. And don't think I didn't notice what you said, Albus. 'Famous wizard', are you?'

'I like to think so,' Dumbledore answered good-naturedly, winking at her.

'I don't,' Minerva retorted. 'And I don't pay court with egotistical wizards, so don't delude yourself.'

'Is that what we're doing, Minerva?' Albus asked, locking eyes with her. 'Paying court?'

Minerva would have frozen had they not been dancing. She felt a flush of heat rise up to her face, and swore colourfully in her head. She thought that if the world were to open up and emit dragons and Dark wizards and foul creatures, she'd rather face that instead. That not being an option, she swallowed and looked at Albus determinedly.

'I hadn't thought about it,' she replied coldly. The music stopped and the couples on the floor bowed to each other before moving off. Minerva and Albus didn't move.

'I had,' Dumbledore replied simply. He looked at Minerva, noting her flushed neck and face, how she held his gaze though he could tell she desperately wished to drop it. She said nothing.

'Would you like to know what I concluded?' he continued, ignoring the fact that several people were watching them. Minerva's eyes flickered between him and their audience, looking for all the world as though she did not want to know what he had concluded, and would rather jump off the Astronomy tower instead.

Albus took her arm and gently guided her away from the watchers and towards the outside gardens. It was dark out, but several enchanted lanterns floated along the path, lighting their way.

'Minerva,' he said gently, once they were alone, but she jerked her arm from his grasp and turned away.

'It's fine,' she said coldly. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

Albus smiled to himself and followed her, deeper into the gardens. He caught her hand as she stalked away from him. She pulled it out of his grasp as though burned.

'I would like to talk about it,' he insisted gently. Minerva shook her head.

'Unfortunately, this isn't about you, so you'll forgive me if I take my leave of you now, Albus.' She turned to go again.

'Minerva, I very much would like to court you,' Albus told her, keeping a tight grip on her hand to prevent her from leaving. She shook her head, retaining her brisk manner.

'I won't have anyone taking pity on me,' she snapped. 'Do let me alone, Dumbledore.'

'I do not pity you, Minerva,' Albus said again. 'I would honour the opportunity to further our relationship. I'd intended to speak to you about it tonight.' He looked at her, but he could see she wasn't listening; her mind was miles away, whirring to keep herself from doing anything, from focusing, he could see that much. He needed a more drastic measure.

So he kissed her.

He put his hands to her face and bent his head, his fingers curling softly around her neck. He kissed her softly, gently parting her lips with his own. It could not be considered a chaste kiss; no, this was a kiss with intent. When he raised his head to look at her, to brush a strand of hair from her forehead, her eyes followed him. She looked pensive for a moment. Then;

'I've changed my mind,' she announced in her usual manner. 'You may court me.'

And Dumbledore laughed, and wound his arms around her waist without thinking about it. 'You've changed your mind, have you? May I ask what brought on such a drastic change of heart?'

'I don't think I'll tell you,' Minerva said dryly. 'Your head is quite big enough.'

Albus' cheeks hurt from laughing, but he couldn't help it. His hand brushed her cheek; her neck; her temple; his fingers with hers. 'I'd like to kiss a certain witch, Minerva,' he told her, 'but I'm not sure if she'll allow it.'

'I think you'll find she may,' Minerva informed him. She closed her eyes as he lowered his head; and then his mouth was upon hers, hot and gentle, and she knew that this is what would have happened at the snowball fight. She grinned to think of what Poppy might have interrupted had she come two minutes later. She wrapped her arms around Albus' neck was in utter bliss for a whole five seconds before she remembered.

'Albus!' She tore away from, pushing his arms, her face flushed and frowning.

'Darling?' he asked, bemused, why had she –?

'We're in public,' she snapped, fixing her hair, 'I couldn't possibly – it's the height of impropriety – I don't know what –.'

'The gardens are empty, Minerva,' Dumbledore pointed out, amused, and she threw him such a glare he raised his hands in surrender. Alright, he admitted it. He liked Minerva. He liked her a lot.

'That doesn't matter, and you can't know that – for Merlin's sake, stop grinning like a child, Albus!'

'Would you like to know how I think of it, Minerva?' Albus said, following her determined stride back to the ballroom. 'I can either kiss you here, or in there,' pointing to the ballroom, 'and I think that you might prefer it here.'

'Neither is appropriate,' Minerva informed him.

'Then where, Minerva?' Albus asked, catching hold her hand. 'I don't want to push you, my dear.'

Her face softened for just an instant, but then she shook her head. 'I have to go see Poppy and Pomona,' she finally said. 'I'll see you later, Albus. You're not pushing me.' And then, to his utter shock, Minerva took a step forward and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling his head to hers. She kissed him quickly, lightly, almost shyly, and then she was gone.

Albus Dumbledore beamed. This was truly a wonderful night.

Pomona Sprout was in the middle of a very nice conversation with a naturalist when Minerva appeared, her eyes narrowed in determination. Uh oh.

'Good evening,' Minerva said politely, barely looking at Pomona's companion. 'Pomona, may I speak with you for a moment?' Pomona was about to object, when she really looked at Minerva. Was her face…flushed? And was that a loose strand of hair?

'Of course,' the Herbologist replied. 'Excuse us for a moment,' she said to the wizard, who nodded. Minerva seized Pomona's arm and dragged her off to find Poppy, who was not pleased when Minerva interrupted her conversation with a handsome Healer from St. Mungo's. Minerva ushered her friends outside, not saying a word.

'Alright, what's this all about?' Poppy said crossly, staring at Minerva. 'What's happened to you?'

'Change of plans,' Minerva said shortly, leading them more deeply into the moonlit gardens. 'I'm telling you 'absolutely everything' now.'

It took both Poppy and Pomona a moment to place their words from earlier, when they'd made Minerva promise to share the details of her date with Dumbledore.

'You don't mean…' Pomona began, a smile spreading slowly across her face.

'Hush,' Minerva ordered. 'Not yet.' She led the two witches deeply into the garden, finally settling on one of two wooden benches facing each other. Poppy and Pomona took the other.

'Your robes are very nice, by the way, Minerva,' Poppy said approvingly. 'Very Minerva-ish.'

Minerva acknowledged the compliment with a curt nod. 'Now listen,' she said briskly, 'I only tell you this because you are both my friends. Tell anyone else and I will be forced to hunt you down and throw you in the lake with Giant Squid.' After Poppy and Pomona's earnest nods, Minerva told them everything that had transpired. She was interrupted only twice: when she told them of the 'paying court' moment, and when Albus had kissed her.

'I cannot believe you said that,' Pomona said, leaning back after the tale was done, looking thoroughly delighted. 'It was a stroke of genius.'

'I was ready to hex myself, I can tell you that much,' Minerva retorted. 'I still don't know what possessed me to tell Albus we were courting.'

'It worked though, didn't it?' replied Pomona with a grin.

'Weren't you worried that he obligated to say so?' Poppy said. She knew that Minerva knew Dumbledore better than anybody, so she wasn't particularly worried, but she was curious to see what Minerva thought.

'Not worried, per se,' Minerva replied. 'I did say that I didn't need pity, which I suppose he interpreted to mean that I thought he'd offered to court me as a response to what I'd said. But when he kissed me,' Minerva said, resolutely ignoring the smug smiles of her friends, 'I was fairly reassured. He's not the sort to toy with people's emotions.'

'No,' said Pomona thoughtfully, 'I don't suppose he is.'

Minerva sat in silence for a moment, and then she looked up and smiled; a true, genuine smile.

And delight reigned.

Trudy sat at a table by herself, trying and failing to look entertained. She spotted Professor Dumbledore across the room, talking to a young man she presumed to be Harry Potter. With them were Minerva and Bran, chatting cheerfully. She sighed. She wanted Bran to ask her to dance. She really was fond of him; she thought he was kind and funny and truth be told, Trudy was sort of lonely. She sighed, sipping her glass of champagne.

She still wasn't speaking to Connor all that much. She was waiting for a formal apology, and Connor knew it. Perhaps that was why he was avoiding her, talking to some pretty witch on the other side of the room. She sighed again. So much for blood.

A scraping sound on her left alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. To her surprise, Pomona Sprout seated herself next to Trudy, smiling kindly. 'We never leave each other alone at these kind of functions,' Pomona said with a wink. 'It's Hogwarts' Unwritten Code of Honour.'

Trudy laughed despite herself, suddenly feeling much more cheerful. Another moment passed, and then Flitwick and climbed onto a chair with a grin plastered to his cheerful face. 'Ladies,' he greeted them. 'Enjoy yourselves, I hope? Sprouty, I think you've had enough wine,' he added, with a wink to Trudy, who laughed again.

'I'm making up for the outing I missed to the Three Broomsticks, Filius dear,' demurred Pomona.

'Trudy missed it too, and you don't see her gulping down wine by the barrelful, do you?' Flitwick squeaked.

'Actually, I think I'd like to remedy that,' Trudy answered with a grin, and she seized another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

'Witches,' squeaked Filius in mock exasperation. 'Well, if you can't lick them, join them – isn't that what the muggles say, Tru?' He grinned and took another glass for himself, raising it in toast. 'To us,' he said.

'To Hogwarts,' Pomona said, raising her own.

Trudy didn't bother pointing out the misquote in Flitwick's expression, but instead raised her glass as well. 'To elf-made wine,' she toasted, and with a hearty 'hear, hear!' from her companions, the three drank deeply.

Perhaps this Ball wasn't so bad, after all.

TBC

Hope you enjoyed! Things are starting to heat up, aren't they? ;) Review are greatly appreciated! :D