006: Hours
"Watch."
May, and sunlight bathed the room in brilliance, shining through the tall panes, making her scrunch up her eyes. Dust motes danced through the shadows of the piled tables and chairs, every now and then catching the light and gleaming, before sinking back into invisible swirls. Her summer robes hung cleanly about her, soft and warm. A phoenix, his resplendent plumage painful to look at, chirped from his perch on a chair - a chirp which was echoed by the birds outside, black specks soaring through a blue sky. Auburn hair glinted. Her favourite teacher stood by the windows, a silhouette against the day.
"Watch."
Long, thin arms extended themselves, stretching out like the wings of a bird. Large, embroidered sleeves made triangles against the light. Her breath was stolen away - for no apparent reason, the image was engraved on her mind-
The fingers lengthened, and the auburn spread, rippling through the robes. Talons moved out across the floor. The mane became a proud crest. For one, glorious moment, a gigantic phoenix stood, wings outstretched, blazing more brightly than the sun… It shrank, away from the sun, so that she glimpsed bright blue eyes encircled by half-moon markings, before the process reversed itself - and her professor returned, arms still out in an immense embrace…
"But how?"
Her whisper was absurdly loud. His chuckle was gentle, lilting.
"Practice."
But her cat struggled away from her, brushing her face mockingly with unseen whiskers. It wrenched itself from her grasp, leaving only traces. Yet he was there, throughout the summer months and beyond, chuckling and spreading his wings. When her first transformation came, he was there to pat her on the shoulder, and ease the pain away. His words remained in the air, with the dust motes:
"Courage, Minerva."
And "you have talent."
She found her fur, but she would never find her wings like him. There was only wonder to be had at such grace, such ease. She never tired of watching his change, and he never tired of showing it. All track of time was lost, listening to his advice and amusement. Eventually, she found the courage to laugh with him - and then it was a joy, for he was more than her professor, more than a friend, but her platonic, intellectual lover; a mentor. They talked of Transfiguration, poetry, Muggle authors, wizarding politics. When she voiced an opinion, her face heated. Blue eyes twinkled.
"The cat is yours, Minerva."
The lessons ended.
But she remembered them, those golden hours.