A/N: Finally another.
008: Weeks
"Minerva, I would like you to accompany me."
The preposition had been so unexpected - so inappropriate, her colleagues whispered. Only ten years of teaching, and selected to accompany the Headmaster to an international teaching conference! Surely a slight to those who were more senior, and more qualified. Yet the true level of meaning only struck her afterwards, out of the sight of the hypnotic blue eyes…
"There is no reason why not," he had said, anticipating her objection before her mouth had opened, and leaning back in his seat. Fawkes, perched on the desk, gave a trill of apparent agreement. "I believe you will find it particularly beneficial. And a young mind at the Mentis conference is always welcome."
"But Headmaster, surely someone more experienced-"
His expression had been strangely solemn. "Please come."
The argument died on her lips. Please. She shifted in her seat and looked awkwardly at her hands. Embarrassment resulted in a simple nod of submission; he had humbled himself, and she did not know why…
So it was that she would attend the prestigious Mentis conference, usually the territory of head teachers and their senior management. The shock and impropriety of it had forced the blood to her cheeks, as though it was a personal irregularity rather than a professional one. In the following days, the self-conscious warmth remained with her, heightening at every glance of a faculty member. The possible meaning of the invitation did not escape the others; the elderly Professor Greer nodded frostily at her at the High Table, and an overheard conversation drew her nerves taut:
"… Deputy? Her? My good woman, her years-"
"-Are few. Horace, he is taking her to Mentis. Everyone knows what that means."
That alone had been enough to make her avoid Albus for at least three days. A preposterous idea, but an impression that would only ensure hostility. Worse inevitably followed, as those who felt themselves cheated grew more venomous-
"-Very young. But perhaps a pretty face is a sore sight to old eyes-"
"-Well, have you noticed that she's always been a favourite? In the staff meetings. Always 'what does Minerva think?' Or 'perhaps our Transfiguration professor would like to add a word?'"
"-Well, he's getting on. Who can blame him if he needs some extra warmth at night?"
Her temper, ever waiting below the surface, exploded. She could still remember the circle of stunned faces as her voice rose uncontrollably. In some ways she was not sorry; Albus was no doddery old pervert! Yet they had left for Mentis under a pall - her outburst had merely cemented the perceptions-
Deputy! Who on earth would want a Deputy without any sense of diplomacy?
"The first lecture is beginning in ten minutes, Minerva. I believe we should make our way down into the hall."
She jumped, forced back to the present. Albus had returned from his trip to the toilet and was standing by the breakfast table, lips curved in a patient smile. Flushing, she stood up. They made their way to the Mentis lecture hall, passing down extravagant corridors, past pompous oil-painting and smug sculptures, treading over embroidered carpets. The vaunting ceiling rose above them, oppressing them with grandeur. Albus hummed, at ease, and she hid herself in the sound.
The hall was dominated by a large round table, fringed by head teachers and their deputies. A quick look at the nametags revealed to Minerva that she was the only non-senior teacher present, and another, more gradual observation made her spot the raised silver eyebrows and suspicious glares. The assumptions behind them seemed to creep over her skin; she dropped her eyes and simply listened as the first speech and round of discussions began. Only the half-moon spectacles next to her made her sit up, and express an opinion.
He will not be ashamed-
Lecture passed into lecture, and the days passed surprisingly quickly. She remembered little of the long-winded speeches, only the sensation of Albus's closeness, and the focus of his attention. One week flashed by, and then another. They lunched at various local restaurants, discussing Transfiguration and teaching by turns, telling anecdotes of misbehaving students. Did she value the comparative intimacy because he was the greatest wizard in the world? Yes, that was it. A companionable silence was occasionally experienced, and she would look up to see herself already being observed-
Please come.
Why her? Why not Greer or Slughorn..?
Those eyes.
The weeks were gone, and they returned to Hogwarts, irrevocably altered. The comments behind closed doors intensified, but something inside her had been so soothed as to make them irrelevant. More weeks would pass, and there would be other, more obvious additions, such as that of the silver seal around her neck. Greer grumbled, Forsyth whinged. Dumbledore's 'whore' had become Dumbledore's Deputy. Yet those weeks had made her something else, if only in terms of address-
My dear.