A/N: Ugh, I personally hate this one. But I'm doing these in order.

I'msoMAD - Yes, I keep jumping back and forth. 001 and 004 are on the same day, 002 takes place decades before, and 003 at the end, so to speak.

005: Outsides

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Headmaster." She was halfway into her seat next to Albus before she noticed the unwelcome visitor sitting on her other side. The sight of the inspector sent a cold bolt through her - for the eyes that watched her over thick, round spectacles were feminine, and the pouting mouth was daubed with lipstick. The fact that she was shaken made her even more so; why did the fact that this inspector was a woman bother her? There was no reason for the scrutiny to be any more personal, or the criticism to be any more biting. No, she was merely surprised; all previous inspectors had been fat, balding old men. Pointedly turning her head away, she reached for the toast.

The students were chattering and laughing as usual, but she had the odd feeling of being somehow trapped in a bubble of silence. The sound of the toast against her teeth seemed obscenely loud, and the creak of the inspector's chair was painfully obvious. Blood rushed to her cheeks; she felt herself being looked at. Surely she couldn't be evaluated on how she ate her breakfast? No, of course not - she was being silly, and paranoid - or was it because of the emptiness that was entirely unrelated to the inspector? She sneaked a glance to the side.

Albus was engrossed in the Daily Prophet, seemingly completely forgetful of his boiled egg. Looking over his shoulder, she tried to read the headlines, hoping that there would be something irritating enough to comment on. She found herself looking more at the half-moons than at the paper. The blue eyes scanned resolutely. She gave up, and took another bite of her toast. On the edge of her vision, she saw the inspector's hand drift through her hair. The food became a rubbery morass in her mouth - the gesture had been so… deliberate…

At last, Albus cleared his throat, and she sat up straight.

"I shall have to see you in my office, around lunch-time. The syllabus for the Third-Years has been unexpectedly amended."

The sapphire irises did not turn towards her, but continued to peruse the paper.

"Yes, of course, Headmaster."

"By the way, I'm aware that Filius wishes to speak to you about a classroom change."

"Ah," she murmured. "I will see him at some point today."

He nodded, and turned a page. The inspector smirked. Minerva felt suddenly like screaming; the outsider's perception was no different from her own, she realised.

There was a rustle as her superior laid aside the paper. The half-moons glinted as their wearer swept his gaze up and down the House tables. Then he rose, so abruptly that her hand jerked, sending a knife sliding across the wood.

"I think I must relieve my bladder. Excuse me."

As he walked away, she clung to the humour. The inspector leaned forward, and turned her chair conspiratorially towards her.

"You are… Professor McGonagall? The Transfiguration professor?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"How long have you worked here?"

"Three years."

"Oh?" The inspector's pencilled eyebrows rose. "I must confess, from that conversation I just observed, I thought you must be new. But, really, it is quite impressive. Hogwarts has a very professional atmosphere. Sometimes a head teacher will become too… personable with their staff. A school can lack authority and direction when that happens. You understand?"

One eyelid flickered, dripping mascara. Lead sank into her stomach. I thought you must be new. Who could blame the inspector for thinking that, after a conversation that had been so blank and cold? And that was her fault; the term 'Headmaster' was a wedge between them that would not go away. He was so kindly towards her - personable -at times, and so distant at others. Of course, she was being silly; subordinates were not supposed to obsess over their relationships with superiors.

Professionalism, professionalism, professionalism. What a bitter mantra!

Three years, and yet nothing had changed. Had she expected it to? Why? She delved, nervously. All was confused, indistinct. The inspector had left the table, but it was as if she was still there, binding her to her chair-

Albus cleared his throat again. She jumped again, feeling the slightly disturbed blue stare sear her. When had he come back? How long had he been sitting there, watching her argue silently with empty air? And she had completely ignored him! He was surveying her over interlocked fingers, both paper and breakfast pushed aside.

"Headmaster, I-"

He held up a hand, brow furrowed, instantly stopping the tide of excuses and apologies. When he spoke, his voice was soft.

"In magic, one can never judge the depth of the inside by the smallness of the outside."

With that, he left. His words baffled her for years.