My humblest apologies for the massive wait between updates - I hope no one's lost interest in the story! I cannot thank my reviewers enough, and I dedicate this to everyone who's managed to stick it out during this long, painful process. ;) Read, enjoy, and review!

Foolishness and Bravery, One and the Same

Professor McGonagall had just gotten into her marking mode, which generally was more difficult on a Saturday than a weekday. In this mood she could mark as much as an entire class's homework in just an hour, and do so effectively and efficiently. It had taken her over a decade to perfect this method of marking, and it was one that she was extremely proud of and grateful for. Her body would take over and she would sink into a state of total concentration, so much so that Severus Snape had once blown up an entire deck of Exploding Snap cards in her face because she hadn't noticed him enter. Since then, she'd done her best to offer a sliver of her attention to her surroundings, but still, her focus was so complete that her mood, patience, and sympathy were likely to drop below ground level if she was disturbed.

It was then that a knock interrupted her.

Minerva growled as she glanced up at the clock on the wall, which cheekily announced that it was only two in the afternoon – barely late enough for a serious drink. She genuinely considered ignoring whoever it was and returning to her work, but with a long-suffering sigh and another glare, she shoved herself to her feet. Besides, she'd already been disturbed; it would take another few minutes to get back into her groove.

The boy on the other side of the door was Jimmy Peakes, the young Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was shuffling his feet and looking at the floor, his head jerking upwards to cower before his Head of House. 'Mr. Peakes?' Minerva inquired, attempting to limit the impatience in her voice. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Professor Slughorn sent me to see you, Professor,' the young boy mumbled, speaking to Minerva's knees. Consequently, he did not see Minerva close her eyes, and did therefore not appreciate the mammoth effort it took for his Transfiguration teacher not to order him to go tell Slughorn to bugger off and deal with discipline himself. She opened her eyes and took a step back. 'You'd better come in.'

Once Peakes was seated on the other side of her desk, Minerva rigid in her chair, the homework she had been marking was stacked into a pile and relegated ungraciously to the corner of her desk. Minerva supposed it would be inappropriate to pour herself a drink.

'What's all this about?' she asked, eyeing her student as he squirmed guiltily and hung his head. 'And if your neck is that sore, Peakes, please conduct yourself to the Hospital Wing,' she snapped harshly. Jimmy hastily looked up and straightened self-consciously.

'Professor Slughorn spoke to me after lunch,' the broad-chested boy mumbled. 'He, um, noticed that I'd been late to Potions on Friday, and wanted to speak with me about it.' He looked at Minerva, who took a deep breath.

'How many times have you been late to Professor Slughorn's class?' she asked, not really wanting the answer. Jimmy mumbled something incoherent and dropped his gaze. 'I cannot hear you, Peakes,' Minerva snapped irritably.

'Seventeen, Professor,' Jimmy finally said, more clearly. Minerva took another calming breath. 'Professor Slughorn told me to tell you,' he continued, his voice growing louder and more anxious, 'that as punishment for my tardiness he suggests a – a detention next Saturday morning.'

Saturday morning. Of course, Horace Slughorn, you conniving Slytherin, Minerva thought. The biggest Quidditch game of the year so far was to take place on Saturday morning at ten o'clock, between Slytherin and Gryffindor. The outcome of the match would determine second place, and now Slughorn had just put one of her Beaters out of commission. Minerva closed her eyes for a moment, and then made a snap decision. She hid a mischievous smile and frowned at Peakes.

'Very well,' she said. 'Your detention will take place with me, Saturday morning.' Peakes looked horrified.

'But Professor – the match – you can't –'

'Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, Peakes,' Minerva snapped, though a more experienced facial interpreter might have noticed the sparkle in her eyes. 'In fact, in order to emphasize the consequences of tardiness, I am assigning you not one, but three detentions.' Peakes opened his mouth in dismayed protest, but Minerva did not pause. 'Your first detention will take place in my office. And in order to impress upon the importance of punctuality, it will begin at six-thirty in the morning and conclude two hours later.' Peakes opened his mouth, closed it again, and furrowed his brow in confusion.

'You may go,' Minerva dismissed the boy. 'Saturday morning, my office.' Peakes stood slowly, a look a dawning comprehension crossing his face. He turned to his teacher incredulously. Minerva raised an eyebrow.

'Well?' she asked. 'What are you still doing here?' Jimmy seemed to jolt out of his reverie. He hurried from the office as though he could not move fast enough. Minerva heard him laughing all the way down the corridor.

Horace was going to murder her, she thought. But the look on his face would be worth it. Humming, Minerva pulled her marking towards her and continued her work. Almost immediately, however, a thump resounded throughout the office, startling her. Her hand was at her wand before she noticed that it was an owl that had crashed into the window.

Scowling, Minerva stood and opened the window. The owl, a small, ruffled-looking brown one, hopped inside with a letter tied to its leg. Minerva untied the grubby, messy letter from the unfamiliar owl's leg and began to read. Sinking down into her chair, Minerva didn't notice the small bird hooting impatiently.

When she had finished reading, Minerva sat in silent thought. This news was far from what she, or anyone, wanted to hear, and it would require almost immediate action. But how to go about doing it…?

'Welma!' Minerva called, coming to a decision. With a crack, a wizened house-elf appeared, an ancient female named Welma. The spindly creature bowed.

'Yes, Mistress? How can Welma serve?' Minerva pursed her lips and considered for a moment – this was risky business, but she needed a confident. And she could trust this elf, who was from McGonagall Manor and whom Minerva had brought with her when she first began teaching. Welma had been her childhood friend in many ways.

'Welma, I have a request of you,' Minerva began, looking into Welma's large green eyes. 'It requires absolute discretion, do you understand?' Welma nodded, her wrinkled face solemn.

'Miss Minerva knows Welma will not betray her,' Welma replied. This was one of the reasons Minerva had chosen her own personal house-elf for this task; though she had several of the Hogwarts' elves at her command, all of them would be forced to answer to the Headmaster truthfully. None of the other teachers, Minerva knew, had house-elves that were not under the Headmaster's command; Minerva only had one because her family, a wealthy pure-blood clan, had been able to afford more than one.

'Thank you,' Minerva answered, glancing around. Alastor Moody – Merlin keep his suspicious soul – had always insisted on constant vigilance, and though Minerva had snapped at him on more than one occasion for his incessant paranoia, she was willing to admit that she did, on occasion, follow his advice. 'I need you to read this letter, commit it to memory, and then destroy it. And then I need your help.'

Minerva handed the grubby letter to Welma, who accepted it with a bow. 'Miss Minnie knows she can trust Welma,' the elf said, having gained the right to the irritating nickname in her seventy-some years of service.

'Yes,' Minerva answered after a moment, 'I do.'

'Connor, m'boy!' boomed Horace Slughorn as Professor McKinley made his way down the corridor. 'Why don't you join me for a spot of dessert, eh? I've got a bottle of mulled mead from Rosmerta, she always sends the best.' Connor turned to face the Potions master, surprised. A small boy, Johnny – no, Jimmy – Peakes was scampering away from the jolly wizard, though Connor suspected he hadn't been as jolly a few moments before.

'I do have a bit of marking to do,' he began, but Slughorn cut him off, waving a dismissive hand, his large stomach jostling jovially.

'Nonsense!' he said enthusiastically. 'It's Saturday, take a bit of time off. Lunch has only just ended; I could do with a drink and a bit of crystallized pineapple.' Connor glanced around involuntarily; Minerva or Pomona would most certainly have disapproved of speaking aloud about drinking while there were students about.

'That stuff is expensive,' Connor hedged, glancing around again, then back at Slughorn.

'Get it for free from old Madge in Diagon Alley, and don't prevaricate,' Slughorn said with a good-natured grin. 'Come now, join me for a bit.' Connor hesitated, deliberating, then finally accepted with a reluctant smile.

'Thanks,' he said awkwardly. Despite himself, he liked the old wizard, liked his cheer and his disregard for Slytherin stereotypes.

'Good lad,' answered Slughorn with a knowing smile. 'Come on, then.'

One hour later found an empty bottle of mead, two glasses, half a box of crystallized pineapple, and two very loud, very happy wizards in Slughorn's study. Connor was clutching his stomach, roaring with laughter as Slughorn hiccupped his way through a story.

'And then she tells me, 'Ol' Sluggy, is it? I'm sorry sir, but you can't bring a vampire to dinner here!' Connor rolled around in his comfy chintz armchair, tears of laughter streaming down his face. Slughorn's jolly belly laugh filled the room as his sugar-coated fingers reached for more pineapple.

'Some people,' Connor said, reaching for his glass, 'some people just can't understand true entertainment.' He frowned at his empty glass and set it back on the table with a shrug.

'Some people can, that's the good thing,' Slughorn hiccoughed. 'I remember the staff party of – Merlin, must've been '72. Had a good few drinks, whole staff was smashed in no time.'

'Even the Headmaster?' Connor asked, brightening as Slughorn pulled another bottle from nowhere and filled the two glasses.

'Oh, yes,' Slughorn answered, taking a gulp of the mead. ''Course, Albus has never been a very interesting drunk – just smiles and laughs and tells a few more jokes. But to see Poppy and Minerva, that was damn funny.' Connor raised his eyebrows and took a few swallows of his drink.

'Minerva?' he asked, trying to remember if he'd ever seen her drunk.

'Mm-hm,' replied Slughorn, unconcerned. ''S matter of fact, might've been her that supplied the whiskey. Good stuff.' There was a moment of silence as both wizards considered the bottom of their glasses.

'Did Madam Pomfrey ever marry?' Connor wondered, half-to himself.

'Some bloke from Magical Maintenance, back in the forties,' Slughorn answered. 'Killed during the first war against You-Know-Who.'

'And you?' Connor said, taking the bottle and emptying it.

'No,' Slughorn said. He clapped Connor clumsily on the back. 'We're just bachelors, you and I,' he said, his words slightly slurred. 'For life, just living it out. Nothing better, right?'

'Cheers,' Connor grinned, and both men drank deeply. For some reason, Connor didn't find the thought at all depressing.

Suddenly, Minerva's brisk voice echoed throughout the room. 'Horace? Have you got Connor with you?' Slughorn turned to the fireplace, where Minerva's voice was coming from.

'Yes,' he answered. 'What going on?'

'Dumbledore called an emergency staff meeting,' Minerva said. There was a cold pause. 'He's leaving.'

All of a sudden, Connor felt more sober than he'd ever felt in his life.

'The situation with the giants as reached a boiling point,' Dumbledore was saying as Connor and Horace hurried in, looking grim. 'The nearest muggle town has had to evacuate, though they do not know the real cause. I must go do what I can.' Connor glanced at Slughorn, who, to his surprise, was watching not Dumbledore, but Minerva. Her mouth was in a thin line and her arms were crossed, her eyes slightly narrowed. She said nothing.

'Hagrid has already offered his help, as you all know,' Dumbledore continued. 'His help was invaluable, but unfortunately, not enough. It is my turn to do my part. It will be dangerous, which is why you must all stay here.' He glanced at Minerva, who did not look at him.

'When do you leave?' asked Flitwick, his normally cheerful expression solemn.

'Very soon. Now, as a matter of fact. I apologize for the short notice, but I'm confident that I am leaving the school in capable hands,' Dumbledore said, fastening his heavy travelling cloak about his shoulders. 'I intend to return as soon as possible. Good-bye, all.' The staff raised their hands in farewell, calling out good-byes and well-wishes. Still Minerva said nothing, her eyes narrowed.

'Good-bye, Minerva,' Dumbledore said to her, his eyes seeming to pierce straight through her. The others watched in silence. Dumbledore turned to go.

'Oh, for the love of –,' Minerva snapped, and she took two brisk steps after him. She grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around. Swiftly taking a hold of his face with both hands, she kissed him. Dumbledore pulled her to him lightly, his hands on her narrow waist, and kissed her back. It was a long moment before they broke apart.

Breathing slightly ragged, Dumbledore leaned his forehead against Minerva's. There was a pause, and then Minerva pulled back, considering him for a moment.

'Don't do that again,' she finally said curtly.

'No, Minerva,' acquiesced Albus with a grin. He kissed her once, then twice, his mouth on hers just a moment too long for it to be considered light, before leaving for good.

There was another heavy silence, one that filled the room. Connor couldn't quite believe that Dumbledore had just left. Minerva, then, was now Headmistress, Filius the deputy. How long would Dumbledore be? Connor mused.

'That was quite the farewell,' Slughorn finally said to Minerva, trying to ease the tension.

'Shut up,' Minerva snapped, and silence fell again.

Dumbledore shook hands with Frank Jordan, the head of the International Giant Liaison Office. He was from England, but Dumbledore, looking around the field where they'd set up, could see representatives from Britain, Sweden, Norway, and, of course, France.

'Professor Dumbledore,' he said, greeting the old wizard warmly. 'Thank you for coming. I apologise for dragging you here, but as you can see, we're in bad shape.' Dumbledore nodded in agreement; in the distance, he could see three emergency tents, overflowing with the wounded and harried healers.

'It's quite alright,' he assured the man. 'I wish I could have come sooner, but there were some complications.'

'Hagrid should be here soon,' Jordan said, glancing around. 'He was pleased to hear you were coming. He set off on a reconnaissance mission a few hours ago.' Jordan nodded at a wizard passing by. 'Now, here's what's going to happen. We need to get you an audience with the Gurg. He's not the friendliest bloke in the world, but we're pretty certain that he knows you and, worse comes to worst, we'll have a team of Aurors nearby.' Dumbledore nodded as they two made their way to a large tent with the Ministry of Magic seal splashed across it. 'The trick is getting to the giants in the first place. Apparition won't work, and using a portkey is downright dangerous, depending on where you land. That leaves going in by foot or by broom, and we've tried both, but even Hagrid and Maxime haven't gotten very far. We haven't yet managed a path down to the main valley. The best we can do – and what we have been doing – is to stop the worst of the damage on nearby towns, though if all the giants are riled up there's not much we can do.' They entered the tent, which was full of tables and desks and people working. Jordan led Dumbledore to a map and pointed at several blue dots that had been inked in.

'Here's where we've managed mostly safe recon sites – these three here were established by Hagrid and Olympe. At the moment, we're trying to get a path cleared that will take you to the Gurg.'

'How are you doing that?' Dumbledore asked. He though for a moment that a flash of apprehension had appeared in Frank's eyes, but the next second it had gone.

'There are a few giants within the clan that are sympathetic to us. We've been trying to reach them and get their help, and from there clear a path. It's been tricky getting to them, though.'

'But you're closer now?' Dumbledore continued, intrigued.

'Well, yes,' Jordan answered, looking uncomfortable. He didn't elaborate.

'How?' Dumbledore persisted, but just then Jordan glanced up, his expression clear.

'Here's Hagrid!' he called loudly, startling some of the workers. A large shadow blocked the sun as Hagrid bent down to look in the mouth of the tent.

'Professor Dumbledore!' Hagrid called, beaming. 'Good te see yeh, sir.'

'You as well, Hagrid,' Dumbledore replied, smiling up into the large bearded face. He exited the tent, and Hagrid straightened. This time, Dumbledore was sure he hadn't imagined it – yes, there was a flash of apprehension in those beetle black eyes. Hagrid was far from as smooth as Jordan was, who followed Dumbledore out.

'Hagrid, could you take Dumbledore over to Madame Justine's tent?' Jordan asked. 'She wanted to know when he got in. Justine's from the International Magical Co-operation Department in France,' he added to Dumbledore. 'She'll fill you in on the details.'

The walk to Justine Lebeau's tent was oddly disconcerting, in Albus' mind. Hagrid seemed equal parts relieved that Dumbledore had arrived, and on edge. For what, Dumbledore didn't know.

'It's good to see yeh, Professor,' Hagrid was saying, but he didn't quite meet Dumbledore's eyes. 'It's a shame that yeh had to come, leavin' the school an' all, but you're needed here.'

'Yes, I suppose so,' Dumbledore answered cheerfully, not letting his concern colour his voice. 'Hopefully this can be sorted out soon.'

'Yeah,' agreed Hagrid. 'Should be easier, now we've got – got you,' Hagrid said, stumbling oddly over the last bit of his sentence. 'Bin tough, but there's not much we can do but what we're doin' already, I suppose.' Dumbledore nodded in easy agreement.

Justine Lebeau's tent was the light shade of blue that distinguished all delegates from France, a small French flag waving by the entrance. Hagrid hesitated by the entrance. 'I don' reckon Miss Lebeau is too keen on me,' he said after an awkward pause. 'I'll go 'round to Olympe's tent. Comin' fer dinner?'

'Yes, of course,' Dumbledore answered, watching Hagrid amble off awkwardly. Something was amiss here, and he didn't know what. With a sigh, he steeled himself and poked his head in the tent.

'Madame Lebeau?' he called, looking around the tent that was, after all, much bigger on the inside than it appeared. A lady off to the side looked up sharply.

'Professor Dumbledore?' she questioned, hand at her wand. Her beady eyes narrowed at him, reminding him, absurdly, of Minerva.

'Yes,' he replied. 'I've just spoken with Frank Jordan.' Justine eyed him, her sharp gaze sweeping him up and down. Apparently, he passed her inspection, for she nodded slightly and gestured for him to enter.

'Good,' she said derisively. 'He's remembered something. Jordan's got his head unscrewed half the time, wanders around with as much sense as a flobberworm.' She turned to face him fully, and Albus got his first good look at the women he suspected he wouldn't warm up to.

She was short, despite the heel on the stout boots she was wearing, which peeked out from under sturdy blue robes. Her hair was a mass of tight brown curls that fell to her shoulders, and her eyes were light brown and sharp, framed by narrow black glasses. Despite her French heritage, her accent was profoundly English. She wore a permanent scowl.

'Come in, then,' she said shortly, turning back around. 'I've got the details for you here.' Dumbledore approached the witch reluctantly, bracing himself for a long stay.

It was late that night when Dumbledore reached the mess hall, the large tent used for meals. He immediately spotted Hagrid and Olympe Maxime at a magically reinforced table near the back of the hall, but the table looked more crowded than he would have expected. He swept over to them, frowning slightly at their reactions. Frank Jordan, whom Dumbledore was surprised to see, jumped at the sight of him and glanced over his shoulder. Hagrid looked away from Dumbledore as soon as their eyes met, clearing his throat loudly. Everyone at the table fell silent at the sight of the Headmaster, who was utterly baffled.

'Professor Dumbledore,' Jordan greeted him, clasping his hands in front of him. 'Ah, I wonder if I might speak to you outside for a moment?' Dumbledore, who decided that everything had gone far enough, raised his eyebrows.

'It won't take long,' Jordan added, as if that the determining factor. 'Come along.'

'Oh, enough,' snapped a man Dumbledore recognized as Mark Karofsky, Madam Maxime's co-ordinator. 'Just tell him.'

'Tell me what, precisely?' inquired Dumbledore coolly, looking to Hagrid, was appeared supremely uncomfortable. Dumbledore, quite frankly, did not understand.

Then his confusion turned to horror as, at first hidden behind Hagrid's massive form, a witch rose to her feet. She stepped away from the table and met his eyes coolly. It was Minerva.

It had been difficult. Not much escaped Dumbledore's notice, and this was something that, while it had to be hidden for as long possible, could not possible remain secret for long. That night when Minerva had received Hagrid's letter, a messy scrawl telling that her that they needed an Animagus desperately, she'd wondered if Dumbledore would allow her to go. He would be unwilling to have them both gone from the school – the last time it had happened, Unbridge had come uncomfortably close to total dictatorship – and the danger of the situation would instil a certain disinclination for her participation in him. Perhaps he might have even pulled rank, and that wasn't a chance she'd been willing to take.

The only things that gave her an advantage were that he knew of her disapproval of his interference. Albus knew that she did not like him going, that she objected to the whole sordid affair. Her involvement made no sense, so he had no reason to suspect her. And, Minerva had thought bitterly, any odd behaviour on her part could have been chalked up to his departure. It was almost easy to deceive him.

Until now.

He looked as though he'd been struck in the face by something heavy, and her heart ached for him, but her resolution stood firm. She had logic on her side, and she was determined. Minerva McGonagall had never allowed men to rule her life, and she wasn't about to start now.

The staff had been horrified to hear that she was leaving. As a matter of fact, she'd actually beaten Dumbledore to France, despite his head start.

'Shut up,' Minerva snapped at Horace. She went to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and pulled out a heavy travelling cloak, gloves, and a scarf.

'Where are you going?' asked Horace after a moment. Minerva fastened the cloak around her shoulders but continued to face the wall, wrapping the heavy scarf around her neck.

'France,' she answered, turning to face her staff.

There was a pause, a heartbeat, and then Poppy was on her feet and Pomona was behind her, both of them in Minerva's face, shaking their heads and saying loud, unintelligible words. 'Enough,' Minerva said, sidestepping her friends.

'You can't do this,' Filius said, jumping off his chair to stand in her way.

Minerva's temper snapped. 'Actually, Filius, I can. As of right now, you are Headmaster, and Pomona, you are deputy until my return. The substitute for Transfiguration will be here by Monday, the paperwork in the governors' hands by this afternoon. My lesson plans, schedules, and time tables are on my desk in my office. I am leaving.'

'You have no way to get there,' protested Slughorn, Trudy nodding silently in the background. 'Stay a minute and think about this, Minerva.'

'I have thought about it,' Minerva retorted. 'I have every right to claim my vacation time at any point during the year, provided that I leave my position organized, and I have accumulated enough time over the past forty years that I can manage this trip. I am going to France, to fix this giant situation, because I have the ability to help, because I was asked, and because I choose to.' She looked everyone in the eye.

'But, Dumbledore –' began Connor, the first time he spoke.

'No one in this room knew anything of my plans, and so Dumbledore will not hold anyone but myself accountable,' Minerva replied readily. 'It is within my right to leave, and leave I will.'

'You can't,' Pomona said, grabbing Minerva's arm. 'The distance is too far for Apparition, and portkeys to France are impossible to come by nowadays.'

Minerva shook off her friend's arm. 'Good-bye.' She held out her hand. With a crack, a wizened house-elf appeared, grasped the outstretched hand with her own, and before anyone could cry out, both Minerva and the elf had vanished.

Minerva's role was simple. She would transform into a tabby cat and slink into the giants' camp, find the rebel giants, and gain their trust. As soon as she could, she would, with these giants' help, establish a safe route for wizards to approach the Gurg, the chief of the giants. The current Gurg had thankfully heard of Dumbledore and his desire to help them, and so everyone was hopefully that the meeting would end the battles. Dumbledore didn't know the extent of her involvement, thank Merlin.

It was dangerous, of course, but this wasn't the first time she'd risked her life. Hell, she thought wryly, her entire life was the summation of countless risks, of recklessness, and of foolish bravery. A perfect Gryffindor cliché. Her current – complication – with Dumbledore threw a bit of scandal into her typical existence. It was all rather daring, and Minerva couldn't help but appreciate the exhilaration it provided her. Of course, that it came at Dumbledore's emotional expense put a bit of a damper on things.

He was still staring at her, with eyes that pierced through to her soul. They needed to talk, and in the middle of a crowded tent surrounded by international delegates was not the setting she had in mind. Fortunately, her non-verbal communication with Dumbledore was still very much in place, so the two of them strode from the tent without looking at each other.

Once they were a suitable distance away, Dumbledore turned to face her. Her sharp eyes immediately noticed a slight tremble in his hands before he clasped them behind his back. She raised her eyes to his face and held his gaze unflinchingly – let's see how long that lasts, she thought harshly.

'Minerva,' he murmured. 'Oh, Minerva, why didn't you tell me?'

Minerva straightened slightly. She'd been dealing with this man for forty years, and she'd be damned if she couldn't deal with him now. 'I couldn't risk your reaction,' she answered, harsh but honest. 'I needed to come.'

'I would never have forbidden you from coming,' Dumbledore said, sadness clouding his usually bright eyes. 'I would have tried to change your mind, yes. I would have used any and all utilities at my disposal to convince you otherwise, yes.' It was a time for brutal honesty; they both knew he could manipulate when necessary, and he would have in order to prevent her from coming. 'Minerva, you know me. I cannot force you into anything. I learned that years ago.'

Minerva flinched at the reminder of an incident, long passed, and jerked herself forcibly to the present. 'It was not a chance I was willing to take,' she replied coolly, keeping her emotions at bay.

'Then you do not trust me,' Dumbledore said, holding the gaze she still refused to drop. Minerva clenched her hands. Was he trying to make her angry? She had decent control of her temper, yes, but what kind of a statement was that?

'Don't be foolish, Albus,' she snapped at him. 'This isn't the time for it.'

'I see no better time than the present!' Dumbledore cried spiritedly. 'Minerva, you snuck to France under the impression that I, of all people, would restrain you from going! What better indication of mistrust is there than this?'

'Enough, Albus,' Minerva snapped, determined to keep her cool. 'You're overcomplicating things. Had I told you of my plans, you would have tried to change my mind. Don't interrupt!' she added stridently. 'I couldn't handle your attempts, Albus. You would have been capable of convincing me otherwise, and I couldn't risk that. This isn't a question of trust, Albus, this is a question of my ability to say no to you!'

Well, bugger, she'd gone and lost her head. Angry, both at herself and at him, she turned her back and paced away, facing the sinking sun. When had her life gotten so bloody complicated? She was a witch of straight-forwardness, of frankness and no-nonsense; she had no use for subtleties and hints. She didn't need this drama.

'Minerva,' Dumbledore said softly. 'Minerva, please, look at me.' Minerva resisted the temptation to refuse, to keep her back turned to him like a stubborn child, but she turned to face him, eyeing him coldly.

'You are right, Minerva,' he finally said. 'It's simply that I wish you could have stayed…uninvolved. I don't like to see you at risk – though you'd think I'd be used to it by now.' Minerva sighed, accepting this. He hadn't promised to refrain from convincing her of anything again, but she hadn't expected him to. It was part of him to want to keep people safe and happy.

'I'm still angry at you,' Minerva finally said, uncrossing her arms, which had, at some point, folded tightly against her.

'I know. I forgive you too,' he answered cheekily, winking at her. He drew closer to her, and she permitted him to wrap his arms around her waist, to tuck her head under his chin. They stood like that for a moment, and then he lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth gently and light. But then Minerva stepped back, cocking an eyebrow.

'Minerva?' he questioned, tilting his head to the side. She smiled slightly at the sight.

'I'm glad we've sorted this out,' Minerva said. 'But if you'll excuse me, it's time for my outing, and now I've missed dinner.'

'Outing?' Dumbledore repeated, taking a step toward her and she drew slowly away.

'Yes,' she answered. 'I'm going into the giants' camp.' And then she was gone, Dumbledore left standing, mouth agape, in the face of Minerva's suspiciously Slytherin trickery.

TBC

Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed. Another chapter is in the works, and hopefully it won't take as long this time around. I apologize, this chapter seems to have grown a little bit beyond what I intended - they grow up so fast! :P Reviews please, and hope you enoyed! :-)