Words cannot describe my guilt, so I will let this chapter do the talking. Hopefully, it'll pique your interest and be satisfying enough until I can scrape another chapter. Read and enjoy, as always :)

A Presence, An Absence

'Watch your language, Rodgers,' Minerva snapped at the impassioned young boy who had, until very recently, been ranting to his friend about his latest mark. The boy – a bright Ravenclaw, Minerva knew – held her gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes and looking properly abashed. Minerva frowned at him but did not bother to take any points off. She was already late and the young little boy looked as though he would quite like to sink through the ground.

'Sorry, Professor,' Anthony Rodgers mumbled, staring at his feet. His friend stood behind him, trying to avoid the Transfiguration teacher's gaze. Minerva's eyes narrowed but she quickly sent them off, resuming her quick pace. She had a Head of House meeting in the staffroom, but she'd been caught up with Peeves on her way there. He was probably at least part of the reason students as young as second-years commanded the sort of language she'd expect from Hagrid on a bad night.

Arriving in the staff room only two minutes late, Minerva quickly seated herself at the table with the three other Heads, hooking her bag over the back of her chair. She drew out the daily planner she was responsible for and opened it to that day's date, already a week into January.

"I apologize,' Minerva said before Horace could speak. 'Peeves set up a delightfully amusing joke for anybody passing by Felix Summerbee's statue in the Charms corridor.'

'Did it involve Felix crashing down on someone's head?' asked Pomona, rolling up the sleeves of her robes and brushing a stray hair from her face.

'It did,' Minerva confirmed, rolling her eyes.

'No matter,' Filius said, shifting slightly on his stack of cushions that allowed him to sit at the proper height. 'Let us begin.'

'Any serious concerns with specific students?' Minerva began, dipping her quill into a bottle of ink and tapping it lightly on the edge. She unrolled a scroll of parchment and began to write as Horace, as usual, was the first one to speak.

'One of my fourth-years, Josef Brown, was overheard boasting that he'd beat up a Muggle over Christmas break, because, as was apparently heard, 'the fecking scum had it coming to him,'' Slughorn said, flipping through his notes. 'The student who overheard this was, I believe, a Hufflepuff third-year –?'

'Marjorie Finch,' Pomona confirmed, shuffling through a stack of papers. 'Hufflepuff third-year; half-blood; one parent deceased two years ago. Date of incident: January fourth. Reported: January fifth.'

'Confirmation?' Minerva asked, filling her parchment with neatly looped writing.

'A muggle was admitted to a small hospital in Cotgrave, Nottinghamshire, December twenty-eighth,' Horace answered with a slight frown. 'Found unconscious in an alleyway just past midnight. No evidence of magic used.'

'Connection?' Minerva continued without looking up.

'Josef Brown's family owns a cottage in the vicinity,' Slughorn answered. 'It is possible, but difficult to ascertain.'

'Marjorie Finch also lives in the area,' Pomona put in. 'Her father was killed by Death Eaters two years ago; it is also possible she made it up to avenge his death.'

Minerva finished writing and looked up. 'We're off the record,' she said after a moment. 'What do you think?'

'While I find it hard to believe that Miss Finch would invent something of that nature,' Pomona began, 'I find it even less likely that Brown would have committed what she's claiming he did.'

Minerva nodded before turning to the Potions Master. 'Horace?'

'I agree,' the round wizard said with a nod. 'While I may be predisposed to believe that a young, headstrong Slytherin is the most likely to do this, from what I know of Mr Brown, he seems a fairly level-headed and decent lad.'

Minerva nodded. 'I don't want a full-scale inquiry for this, you understand?' she asked. 'Miss Finch, while generally a kind girl, is still very young and naïve, and – correct me if I'm wrong – rather foolish?' Met with confirmations from her colleagues, Minerva continued, 'Good. Pomona, I want you to have a serious talk with the girl by the end of the week. If she confesses nothing, or insists that she did hear Mr. Brown, then Horace, you must speak with the boy. I want something concrete to go on in two weeks' time.' Minerva waited for their nods, and then continued. As meetings went, Head of House ones were routine and standard.

The next hour and a half went by quickly, so that when the clock struck half-past five, Minerva was reasonably satisfied with their progress.

'…which explains a rising interest in the Gobstones Club. Funding for minor extra-curricular groups is growing scarce,' Filius finished. Minerva nodded and completed the scroll of parchment.

'I will bring it up during the Governors' meeting next week,' Minerva said, glancing at the clock. 'Motion to adjourn?'

'Seconded,' said Horace, evidently keen to leave for his dinner party that night. He had apparently invited Maya Henderson, author of Centaur Tribe: Beast or Human? to his Slug Club meeting, and was eager to introduce her to one of his NEWT students in attendance.

'Motion passed,' Minerva said, gathering her things. 'Meeting adjourned.' She, Filius and Pomona stood, stretching leisurely, but Horace shot out of the room before Minerva could look around. Pomona and Filius chuckled.

'We didn't even overrun,' Pomona said appreciatively, glancing at the clock.

'Drink?' Filius offered, reaching in the cabinet hidden behind a tapestry and removing a bottle of Barolo from the depths of the shallow cavity.

'Go on, then,' Pomona said with a grin, as Minerva conjured three glasses. Filius poured the deep red wine carefully before setting in on the table. He accepted his glass from Minerva with a smile.

'Cheers,' he squeaked, clinking glasses with the other two. There was a moment of appreciative silence as the colleagues and friends sipped the wine. 'Lovely,' Pomona commented after a moment.

Minerva finished her wine quickly and set her glass on the table. 'I'm sorry, but I've to run,' she apologised. 'I've got to get those Governors' papers signed by the Headmaster; they were supposed to go off today.' Pomona and Filius grimaced sympathetically, and with that, Minerva set off.

At ten minutes to six, Minerva was knocking on the door to the Headmaster's office. She heard the customary 'Enter' and strode inside, her gaze falling immediately on a tall black wizard in dark blue robes.

'Minister!' Minerva intoned, surprised but pleased to see him. Kingsley Shacklebolt offered her a blinding smile and inclined his head as he rose to greet her.

'Professor McGonagall, it has been far too long,' the minister said, shaking her hand warmly.

'It has,' Minerva agreed readily. 'Minerva, if you please.'

'If you will return the favour,' replied Kingsley in his deep voice, one that had always been the voice of reason and calm during the years of the war. Though Minerva had never been one easily calmed, she and the current minister had always gotten on rather well, considering the fifteen year age gap – which wasn't particularly impressive, Minerva thought dryly, when compared to Dumbledore's seniority over her.

'Minerva,' Dumbledore greeted her with a smile, his piercing eyes meeting her own. 'May I assume it to be the Governors' papers?' he said, his eyes twinkling as he heaved a sigh.

'You may assume that, yes,' Minerva replied with the barest hint of a smile, dropping the stack of parchment on his desk. She turned to Kingsley. 'What brings you here?' she asked, curious now that she'd had time to think about his unexpected presence.

'Just some problems in northern Europe,' Kingsley said airily, a characteristic that did not at all suit him and that rendered Minerva immediately suspicious. 'No need to worry.'

'I hadn't been, actually,' Minerva replied archly, looking the Minister of Magic in the face. Kingsley seemed uncomfortable for a moment before turning to Dumbledore.

'I must go, I'm afraid,' he said to the headmaster, replacing his hat. 'I will contact you when we know more.'

'Of course,' Dumbledore murmured, shaking the proffered hand.

'I am sorry I cannot stay any longer,' continued Kingsley, turning to Minerva, 'but I must return to the ministry. Good evening, Minerva, Headmaster.' He bowed slightly to Minerva, inclined his head to Dumbledore and swept from the office.

Minerva, uninvited, seated herself in the chair Kingsley had just vacated. 'What's going on?' she demanded, getting straight to the point. Her eyebrows drew together over narrowed eyes.

'I shall inform you very shortly, Minerva,' Dumbledore said with a sigh. 'But for now: how did the Head meeting go?'

'Smoothly, as always,' Minerva answered coolly. 'I shall pass along the outline in due course.'

'Naturally,' Dumbledore murmured, pulling the papers Minerva had placed on his desk towards him. He selected a quill and perused the papers, lightly skimming the contents, though the routine was merely perfunctory; he knew Minerva had completed anything that needed to be done. Minerva remained in the chair opposite his desk, content to wait for answers once she was sure they were forthcoming. Dumbledore signed his name in loopy writing at the bottom of the last sheet and sighed as he replaced his quill on his desk.

'There are problems with the giants,' he finally began, laying the points of his fingers together and peeing at Minerva over his spectacles. 'The remaining ones have engaged in a massive brawl that is wreaking havoc on the neighbouring communities.'

'Filius' paper,' Minerva said as realization struck. 'That was what he wanted to show you the other day.'

'Indeed,' Dumbledore replied. 'The muggles believe it to be a series of earthquakes, but the giants may soon leave the mountains. Their arguments have reached massive proportions.'

Minerva frowned. Though, logically, she saw why the ministry would have to involve itself with this, she failed to connect it to the reason why Kingsley had come to Dumbledore. They appreciated his insight, yes; but Kingsley was an excellent leader, extremely responsible and not needing to question Dumbledore every thirty seconds.

'The ministry is desperately poor in numbers at the moment, as you well know,' Dumbledore continued. 'The de-corruption was a marvellous idea, but re-population of the workers will take a while longer.'

Minerva finally lost her patience. 'Albus, what is the point?' she demanded exasperatedly.

'The ministry has need of an ambassador of sorts,' he said. That was all he had to say.

Minerva, though in possession of quite an impressive temper, did not immediately respond. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She balled her hands tightly to keep them from shaking, placing them with deliberate carefulness into her lap. When she looked up, her voice was steady.

'You are that ambassador.' It was a statement, but her eyes sought confirmation nonetheless.

'The ministry wishes me to act as such, yes.'

'You have agreed.' Another statement, but this one received a different response than expected.

'I have not yet given my answer.'

Minerva muttered something under her breath. Albus had a shrewd suspicion that the phrase wasn't exactly singing his praises. 'But you will go,' Minerva finally surmised, thin lips pursed at him.

'I would rather not,' Albus began delicately, 'but I fear that this will soon take a turn for the worse if I do nothing.'

Minerva wanted to object, to insist that it was mad to think that one man could change so big – excuse the pun, she thought dryly – a problem. But a treacherous, whispering voice at the back of her mind prevented the words from leaving her lips – a whisper that suggested that, perhaps, if anyone could do it, it would be Dumbledore.

She still didn't like it.

'Well,' Minerva said after a long moment, 'I'd best be off to the Owlery.'

'I'm sorry?' Dumbledore said, raising his silver eyebrows.

'The papers,' Minerva replied with a matching eyebrow-raise of her own. 'I need to send them off tonight. Goodnight, Headmaster.' Minerva had collected the papers and was halfway to the door when her acute sense of hearing alerted her to the fact that Albus had moved. She stopped, hand the doorknob, waiting for his calm explanation of why he had to go, how it was all for the greater good –

His lips on her right ear was such a shock that she dropped – what had she been holding? His arms, twining around her narrow waist, pulled her gently against him. 'Why don't you stay a little while longer, hmm?' His lips brushed the shell of her ear as the softly spoken, persuasive words sent shivers down her spine. There was a pregnant pause, then;

'I think not,' Minerva replied shortly, drawing her wand to magic the fallen papers into her arms. She turned, caught sight of Albus' face – so he had been sincere – and stifled a smile. She rose up and kissed him; quickly, swiftly, naturally, then grinned almost wickedly and left, laughing all the way down the stairwell.

Pomona Sprout was missing something, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know what.

After the staff meeting, she'd gone to her office for a bit to catch up on the latest fifth-year essays. She'd left for dinner a bit early, perhaps to compensate for the fact that Horace would be absent, and had been surprised to find Minerva already there, in her place on the Headmaster's chair's right side, in an unusually good mood.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, but the conversation between the headmaster and his deputy was intriguing: clever, as always; light, unusually; and – dare she say it – perhaps slightly flirty?

'Did you owl the governors, Minerva?' enquired Dumbledore of the witch sitting next to him, a smiling crinkling the corners of his eyes as he swept his beard over his should.

'I did,' answered Minerva archly. 'Not that you were any particular help.'

Dumbledore chuckled as he handed Minerva the teapot. 'I can't say that I didn't attempt to hinder you a bit,' he admitted with a smile. 'Though I did rather enjoy it.'

'Oh, hush,' replied Minerva with gruff affection, turning her attention to her dinner, not noticing the looks shared between the rest of the staff. Dumbledore had seen, Pomona suspected, judging by the wink he sent her down the table, but he smiled into his beard and said nothing.

Smiling to herself, Pomona occupied herself with the tea, chatting to Trudy who was seated quietly on her right side.

'Is some the matter, Trudy?' Pomona asked after she'd teased the younger witch gently and received only a weak smile in return. She looked at the Muggle Studies teacher with concern, light brown eyes probing gently.

Trudy took a deep breath. 'I received a letter this morning,' she said with a brave attempt at a smile. 'Here.'

Pomona accepted the letter curiously, but understood what had happened as soon as she'd flipped it over. The McGonagall seal on the back of the envelope more than indicated its contents, but Pomona read it anyway.

'Oh, Trudy,' she sighed sympathetically. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's alright,' Trudy said with a watery smile. 'I knew how it would end from the beginning. I just thought I'd tell you, since, well…'

'Since we're friends,' Pomona inserted, patting the witch on the arm. 'Of course.'

Trudy looked slightly more cheerful at that, and turned back to her dinner. Pomona, however, wondered if perhaps McGonagalls in general were sometimes a bit too direct – at least when it came to setting someone straight about their feelings.

Oh, well. At least he hadn't led her on. Pomona loved Minerva dearly, and Minerva loved Bran, and that was good enough for her.

For all the students in the hall, no one immediately remarked on Professor Grubbly-Plank's presence – or, more noticeably, Hagrid's absence.

TBC

Reviews always appreciated! Sorry if it's a bit short, time is also short in my life. It needs to grow a little longer :P Let me know what you think - too slow, too boring, not funny, not fluffy? How can I know if you don't tell me? ;) I will love you all forever if you leave me a review! Hope you enjoyed! :)