Disclaimer: Poem 'The Seven' - Anon From the Sumerian (trans, Jerome K. Rothenberg)

Distractions

June 1960

Minerva was late and not very impressed. Peeves the poltergeist had caused some trouble with an inkwell and a group of female students who were proudly dressed for the ball, and Minerva had had to leave her quarters to settle the disruption. She was alone in the entrance hall and the huge Great Hall doors had closed several minutes ago.

She did not feel herself. Her usually expertly controlled nerves were misbehaving and making her stomach squirm uncomfortably and her fingers were fidgety when ordinarily they would have been steady as a rock. She was out of her usual practical attire. She was without the customary pull at her temples where her hair had usually been scraped back tightly, not an inch out of line. And she without the nip at the end of her nose where her glasses were usually perched. The only aspect that held any familiarity was the pressure of the wand in her pocket where it rested against her body.

It took Minerva one second to decide against using the main doors and moving instead to the staff entrance at the back of the Hall, and then less than one second to change her mind back. She did not want the feel of her appearance to change the way she would usually act and she was irritated with herself for allowing it, in that short moment, to do so.

She walked up to the huge doors. Her royal blue robes were light and silent as they brushed gently against the marble floor of the entrance hall with each step she took. As she came closer to the enormous double doors she began to hear the energised voices of the eager students over the heavy beat of the music as they were caught up in the excitement of the ball.

Minerva took hold of the enormous bronze handle on one of the gigantic wooden doors and pushed it down with ease. Without a creak it opened effortlessly and she stepped into the Hall.

---

Fifteen minutes had passed and Minerva McGonagall had not yet been recognised. She had managed to walk through the hall of teeming students without any of them straightening their posture or making a way for her to walk through. Some, she noticed looked at her and frowned, not able to place where they knew this witch from. It was a strange feeling, yet Minerva felt rather liberated by it.

She walked over to the staff table that had been laden with a colourful assortment of food and drink. As she picked up a chip and made for the pumpkin dip, a deep voice sounded very close behind her.

"The best disguise is no disguise at all." The hairs on the back of Minerva's neck rose as Dumbledore's warm breath swam over it.

Her long hair whipped out behind her as she turned to face him. He was wearing plain, wine-purple robes and a smile that quickly turned to amazement when he saw her. His silver eyebrows caught the candlelight of the glittering Hall as they darted up in surprise. The reaction, however, was swept away immediately and Dumbledore rediscovered his smile.

"I am enchanted, Minerva," he said to her, giving a modest bow. Minerva raised an eyebrow in response.

"How much punch have you had, Albus?" she asked, not able to mask the hint of a smile that glimmered through.

At that moment Professor Flitwick tottered over to them in time to catch Dumbledore's chuckle with an attractive witch whom Filius did not know.

"Glad to see you're having a jolly time, Dumbledore," Filius Flitwick squeaked from his small height only just level with the staff table top. "I haven't seen Minerva yet. It's not like her to be late."

"Oh, I am sure she is around somewhere, Filius," Dumbledore responded. "Tardiness is not a word in Minerva's dictionary, after all."

Professor Flitwick chortled and was back among the crowd of students moments later. Dumbledore turned to Minerva. She wore an expression of great suspicion.

"Albus," she said, "What was that all about?"

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes shone mischievously.

"Can an old man not have a little fun?" he answered. "Anyway, I rather thought you were enjoying not being recognised." At this, Dumbledore held out his hand to Minerva.

She looked at it, then back at him. Minerva opened her mouth to give her refusal, but Dumbledore took hold of her hand and said, "Surely you would not refuse me when I have been practising so hard?"

An involuntary image flittered into Minerva's mind of Dumbledore dancing with the air around his office and a beaming smile on his face. He pulled her without effort to the large open space that was packed with students. Minerva opened her mouth a second time to speak, but Dumbledore prophesised her words once again.

"There are other teachers here to supervise, Minerva," he said. "And I feel I must dance with you before you begin to be recognised."

They had reached the very centre of the crowded Hall by this time and Minerva felt Dumbledore drop her hand and snake his arm around her waist as their other hands came together. She felt rather rigid at first, but as the dance progress, she relaxed into their steps feeling comfortable for the first time that night.

Suddenly, whispers began to start up around the two dancing professors. At first these went unnoticed by Dumbledore and Minerva because the music overpowered the quieter sounds of the Great Hall. Then, however, then the students began to stare.

They saw their Headmaster dancing very merrily with a woman whom none of them could name. Her hair was longer and darker and shinier than anybody else's in the room; her robes were of a magnificent blue that captured the candlelight and shimmered vibrantly; her relaxed manner suggested intimate familiarity with the wizard before her; and her laugh was recognizable to very few.

"Who is she?"

The dancing couple heard the loud whisper as they passed a group of four Hufflepuffs. Then, as the whispers of the crowd grew louder, the smile on Dumbledore's face grew wider.

"I'm sure I recognise her from somewhere."

"Who do you think she is?"

"Oh yes, it's her!" "Who?" "I can't remember."

Dumbledore was chortling unreservedly at his students' struggle. Some of them had continued dancing, but others had now come to a standstill and were pinning Minerva under their stare, trying with all their might to remember where they had seen her before. It was like smelling a familiar smell from your childhood but not being able to place where it was from.

Minerva, however, was not enjoying the attention. When earlier no one had given her a second glance, now the eyes of at least half of the witches and wizards in the Hall were on her. She raised an eyebrow to Dumbledore.

"You seem to be very amused by this," she said severely.

Dumbledore stemmed his chuckles and, still with a large smile, said, "My apologies, Minerva. I promise you I had not expected this to happen. Shall we distract them, do you think?"

"That sounds like an exceptional idea," she replied. "After you."

"Very well," he nodded, and a spark of competition gleamed in his brilliant eyes.

Dumbledore manoeuvred Minerva to the edges of the dance space, passing through large groups of students who were still staring agonisingly at the couple. They paused, a little breathless from their oscillating, and then Dumbledore began in his attempts to distract the crowd.

-

Every student looked up as shooting stars zoomed and whooshed above them, showering them with light as though it were rain. They 'oohed' and 'aahed' and admired the spectacle as Dumbledore stood unobserved at the very edge of the Hall, muttering spells to change the colours of the display that lit up the Hall like the morning sun.

"Very good," Minerva commented as she joined the students in watching the fascinating sight above them. "But will it be enough?"

After the final shooting star had whooshed over the head of the final pupil, the students returned to their activities. For a while it had seemed that they had all forgotten about the mysterious witch who had danced with their dynamic headmaster. However, attention was drawn to her once again by a loud 'OH!' from Professor Flitwick. He stood next to Dumbledore and Minerva, squeaked, and then toppled from the chair he was standing on.

"Can it really be?" he said in his high-pitched voice, picking himself up off the ground.

The students had started to strain their ears, trying to hear if the witch's name was mentioned. Dumbledore wiped a tear of delight from his eye and caught the students staring towards him and the two other professors.

"I believe it's your turn, Minerva," he said quietly, ensuring that the students heard nothing. It was becoming an unspoken game – a silent competition between Dumbledore and Minerva to perform the best magic in order to distract the students.

Minerva smiled unreservedly at Dumbledore and undertook the challenge of diverting their attention once again. Another game had sprung up in the midst of the spirited atmosphere – while the students were on a mission to discover the identity of the nameless witch, Dumbledore and the witch in question were endeavouring to keep it hidden as long as possible.

It was harder for Minerva as the eyes of the students were unrelenting upon her. However, there was, of course, an easy way of escaping that. Moving behind a group of students who were facing the dance floor, giggling happily with no concept of the other students' curiosity, Minerva performed a quick spell and was lost among the crowd. Nobody, evidently, was looking for a cat.

With the students looking in the opposite direction, Dumbledore caught sight of a tabby cat sprinting across the floor. Minerva transfigured herself back into her human form once she was on the other side of the room and caught his eye. Dumbledore incline his head and Minerva began her own magical distraction.

Dumbledore could not see what was happening at first, but the students in the centre of the Hall cried out in alarm. As they moved apart, he could see the floor stirring. He waited patiently to see what Minerva was going to surprise them all with.

The students had backed away and were watching the flagstones of the Great Hall swirl and become distorted and flexible. A huge crater had begun to form.

Then, quite as suddenly as it had appeared, the dip in the floor began to emit a silver white glow. Minerva was constantly muttering under her breath, absorbed in the spell she was casting. The floor looked like liquid now, and started to bulge in seven places. These swellings grew and rose out of the silver white swirls.

Seven beautiful women appeared. They floated upwards and stopped several feet from the ground. Every part of them was a shimmering silvery-white, as if they were made from the stars themselves. They appeared in a ring, facing outwards to look upon the amazed students on all sides. They were naked but for a single white ribbon that spun modesty around them and linked them together. They moved fluidly at a slow pace, like seaweed in the current of a gentle river.

Their dance captivated the students and, when the dazzling women had the attention of everyone in the room, they began to speak, their voices in harmony with each other, sounding like a gentle echo:

"We are 7 in number, just 7
In terrible depths we are 7
Bow down, in the sky we are 7."

At a flick of Minerva's wand, the women abruptly vanished and were replaced by seven doves that looked as though they had been made from starlight. The creatures flew high towards the ceiling of the Great Hall and faded away in the glimmering stars of the bewitched ceiling.

The students applauded excitedly as a cluster of seven stars in the ceiling shimmered brighter than ever. As they looked down, they noticed that the swirling mass in the Great Hall floor had disappeared and now hid all trace that seven magnificent women had just arisen from it.

Minerva's spell had worked. The students now had something else to talk about. She skirted the floor and this time not one student glanced her way. She located Dumbledore next to the dip where he had found her earlier.

"Ah, Minerva," Dumbledore said with energy. "That was simply marvellous. I feel you have reached the zenith, my dear."

Minerva smiled back at him, her wand still clutched in her hand, and this time she was the one who wore the mischievous glint in her eye.

"Not quite, Albus," she said.

Dumbledore beamed at her and brought his wand from his robes.