A/N: This was one of my favourite chapters to write. Hope you enjoy! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed or followed this story. Every alert I get makes me smile.

13. Checkmate

As it turned out, Augusta had been right. Snogging was easier than Potions. It also involved a lot more tongue. Minerva had no idea if it was supposed to be like that or if she was doing it right. She also didn't know if she was supposed to be thinking this much while they were kissing. Augusta and Holter always seemed to be in a world of their own when they were together – a world that wasn't on planet Earth. But shutting off her brain had never been one of Minerva's strong suits. More often than not, it would have been a lot more effort to convince Duncan to leave her alone for a while than to simply hang out with him and do her homework at the same time.

She got pretty good at that, actually. Since kissing required virtually no brainpower, Minerva could do that and still think about the difference between Trans-species Transformation Spells and Cross-species Switching Spells. Duncan quickly stopped complaining about her multi-tasking when he realised that them doing homework while they were hanging out meant that Minerva was also checking his homework.

"Hey, did I tell you that my parents are going to Brazil for some international conference thingy?" Duncan asked as they were sitting at a table in the common room.

"The 21. International Magical Trading and Investment Conference," Minerva said distractedly, crossing out a horribly confusing part in Duncan's essay where he had written that a mouse could be turned into a rat more easily than into a mango. Minerva suspected that he had meant a mongoose.

"Right, that one," Duncan nodded. "Anyway, it means I'll have to stay here for Christmas and I thought that could actually be fun if you stayed, too."

Now Minerva looked up from their Transfiguration homework. "Not go home for the holidays?" she repeated thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I've never stayed before. Have you?"

Minerva shook her head.

"I hear the food is supposed to be brilliant. Like Halloween feast kind of good and then some. And we'd have so much free time on our hands. We could play Quidditch every day and practise that Disarming Charm for Professor Hawkyard. And we could actually sit in an armchair by the fire for once because the common room will be practically empty."

As much as Minerva loved Hogwarts, she usually looked forward to going home for the holidays to spend time with her family. Of course she didn't miss her family quite as much as she used to. After all, she saw Junior all the time at meals or in the Gryffindor common room, though they currently tried to avoid each other because he would start to protest whenever he saw Minerva and Duncan kiss. And Malcolm would join them here at Hogwarts in less than two years' time. It really was only her parents Minerva needed to see.

But it hadn't been that long since she had said goodbye to them on the first of September and Duncan's vision of spending Christmas at Hogwarts didn't sound half-bad. Minerva had never known the castle to be quiet, not during the day anyhow. It would make for a nice change. And quite honestly, Minerva wasn't looking forward to being interrogated by her parents about having a boyfriend. Because Robert was sure to tell them.

Still, it would be her first Christmas ever without her family, without going to church to listen to her father's Christmas sermon and watch the little kids in the nativity play forget all their lines because they were so excited. And then there was all the food the parishioners dropped off at the manse. Mrs Caraidland's famous Haggis bon bons and Fraser's Clootie Dumpling...

"Come on," Duncan nudged her. "It'll be fun. I'll even help you study for Ancient Runes with those weird flash cards you made..."

Her flash cards were perfectly normal (well, some of them yelled at you when you got an answer wrong or started calling you names), but either way it was more fun to have someone quiz her. "Okay, yes, I'll stay," Minerva gave in.

She put her name down at the end of their next Transfiguration lesson when Professor Dumbledore asked them to let him know if they wished to stay in the castle for the holidays. She also gave him an apologetic grin because he had been forced to raise his voice to be heard over the ruckus Minerva's small army of parrots, penguins and pigeons were making. They seemed to enjoy no longer being parasols, penknives or pinwheels. Minerva was seriously tempted to keep a penguin to see how long it would last, but she didn't fancy spending the rest of her day cleaning up bird droppings.

Her parents weren't happy with her decision to stay at Hogwarts, but they accepted it so long as she promised to come home for Easter. Minerva felt a twinge of guilt when she read their letter and the disappointment it failed to conceal. She wondered what it would be like for her parents when all three of their children would be off to school soon.

Then it began to snow.

It wasn't the first time Minerva had seen Hogwarts in the snow, but she was oddly cheerful now that she had made the decision to stay. To stay and spend Christmas with Duncan. The castle was truly magical this time of year. There were bright little fairies and sparkling snow crystals and huge Christmas trees and singing reindeer and tipsy suits of armour wrapped in mistletoe. She couldn't wait to enjoy it all.

On the morning the Hogwarts Express was set to leave for London, Minerva slept in and had a late breakfast, ignoring her classmates, who were running around in a panic, trying to get packed and have a bite to eat before they had to go. When she left the Great Hall, Minerva ran into the last of the students who were waiting to climb into one of the carriages that would take them down to Hogsmeade Station.

One of them was Duncan.

"What are you doing?" Minerva asked, her eyes wide.

The caught look on Duncan's face was really all the answer she would have needed. "Uh, well, the thing is... I got an owl from my mother. Their plans fell through because my grandma took a tumble down the stairs – she's all right, don't worry – but now they're not going to Brazil, so, ah..."

"So you're going home?" It was a stupid question, since Duncan was standing in line to get into the last carriage. But at the very least he should have the guts to say it to her face.

"Well, yeah, my mother's making me, see..."

"And when exactly were you planning on telling me this?" Minerva cut across Duncan's feeble attempts to explain himself.

He avoided looking into her eyes. "The owl came last night when you'd already gone up to bed and you know I can't go up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. This morning you were still sleeping and I had to go and tell Professor Dumbledore..."

"And you didn't think that I would want to change my mind about staying, too?" This was so unbelievably unfair and cowardly, Minerva couldn't decide what upset her more – that Duncan was doing this to her or that he had tried to do it to her behind her back.

"Er… perhaps there's still time..." Duncan said weakly.

Clearly there wasn't. Minerva hadn't packed a single thing, and Pringle was already barking at the remaining students to get a move on.

"This was your idea!" Minerva said, trying very hard not to yell. "You wanted us to stay here together!"

"Exactly. You didn't even want to. I just sort of talked you into it..."

"At first yes, but then I agreed, and now with the snow and the castle being so beautiful... I was really looking forward to it!" Minerva confessed, tears pricking her eyes. But she could not, would not cry in front of Duncan.

He already looked embarrassed enough as it was. "How was I supposed to know that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't exactly let people in," Duncan said. He still sounded faintly embarrassed but also uncharacteristically mature. "People aren't books. You can't just put them on a shelf and expect them to stay there forever."

Minerva glared at him, but secretly she was shocked, so shocked that one could have knocked her over with a feather.

Pringle now stalked over to them and poked Duncan with a broomstick. "Will you get in that ruddy carriage, boy? The train doesn't wait."

"I'm going, I'm going," Duncan said irritably, taking a step away from the caretaker. "I'm sorry. I'll see you next year," he said to Minerva and walked away.

She watched the carriage leave and then everything was quiet. Just as she had known it would be. Except, it was nothing like that anymore. The castle wasn't calm, it was empty. The snow wasn't peaceful, it was smothering. And the Christmas decorations did no longer make her laugh, they laughed at her. She had thrown away her chance to be with her family for Christmas and New Year's, and for what?

With a gut-wrenching pang, Minerva thought of her father. He always got a little tipsy on New Year's Eve. He didn't usually drink much, so one or two glasses of whisky were enough to do the trick. Shortly before Midnight he would rest both of his hands on her shoulders and ask in all seriousness, "Do you know that I love you?" And Minerva would say, "Yes, Papa." But he would always double-check by asking, "You haven't forgotten?" And she would say, "No, Papa." And then his face would relax into a smile and he would declare solemnly, "Then this year was a good year."

Now that Minerva was stuck in Hogwarts, no one would tell her that they loved her this year. Or perhaps ever, if Duncan's ominous words were to be believed.

Angry and sad, Minerva grabbed a coat and left the castle, thinking that she would feel less alone out on the grounds. But the only thing that changed about the way she felt was that she was also getting cold. She sat on a bench in the courtyard where she was safe from the wind and from prying eyes (not that there were many left in the castle right now).

She took out her wand and tried to turn the piled-up snow into penguins. But the bloody birds only managed to waddle in circles for a few seconds before they fell apart again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

Until her latest penguin suddenly spread its wings and froze. Quite literally. It had turned into a sparkling ice sculpture. It shouldn't have sparkled liked that, with the sun not being out today, but it seemed to have an inner light of its own that made it glow.

"Very pretty, Professor," Minerva muttered. She didn't even need to look up to know whose magic this was.

"Forgive me for saying so, but that compliment lacked somewhat in sincerity," Professor Dumbledore said.

"Sorry, sir, I'm not in the mood."

"When you have the entirety of the holidays still ahead of you?"

Minerva sighed. Dumbledore sounded surprised, but she knew he wasn't really, and she didn't have any patience for games right now. "Yes, and you would already know that... Professor."

"Would I?" Dumbledore asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I know Duncan came to see you this morning to let you know that he was going home for Christmas after all," Minerva said glumly.

"Yes, Mr Bayfield did tell me that his plans had changed," Dumbledore nodded, but he didn't say anything more than that.

Minerva huffed. "And you know I only decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays because of him. Because we're together."

"Actually, I didn't know that, as I try not to make assumptions about matters of the heart or listen to gossip. I find it's a much easier way to live," Dumbledore replied. "But I shall of course, belatedly, extend my best wishes to you and Mr Bayfield."

"We broke up," Minerva said succinctly.

There was a pregnant pause that might have been comical if Minerva had felt remotely like laughing.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Professor Dumbledore said eventually.

Minerva shrugged, though she wasn't nearly as indifferent about everything as that gesture made it look. "At least I think we broke up. Or maybe we were never really together to begin with..."

"Alas, that does sound complicated," Dumbledore said and finally he sat on the bench next to her.

She had expected him to leave her alone with her troubles. Surely, a man like Dumbledore had more important things to do than to listen to stories of teenage heartbreak. Minerva had no clue why she wasn't embarrassed to tell him any of this – as she probably should have been. For whatever reason Dumbledore hadn't walked away and he appeared to be listening, so she asked,

"Why is that, Professor? Why isn't there a formula how to do stuff like this? Like how you need an equal measure of viciousness and wand power in relation to an object's body weight and twice the amount of concentration to achieve a successful transformation?"

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Because if love were a formula, it wouldn't be so wonderfully adept at making fools of us all."

The word 'love' went through her like a lightning bolt. "Duncan and I aren't in love," she said quickly.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Dumbledore said gently. "We all have the capacity to love. It is by far our greatest strength. We just use it far too little."

Minerva agreed with that in principle. She was the daughter of a minister after all. She had spent all her life listening to him preach about the grace of charity and had been told to 'love thy neighbour,' but she had never thought about that when it came to the other kind of love, the romantic kind. Whatever the hell that was exactly.

No matter what Professor Dumbledore said, she was pretty sure it wasn't what she and Duncan had. "I think I was just happy that he liked me, even though I'm not one of the pretty girls in our year." Minerva blushed. This really wasn't something she should be talking to her teacher about.

But she hadn't made him sit down to talk to her. He had chosen to do so and he still chose not to get up and walk away. Instead, Dumbledore said, "Beauty is a very fickle mistress. I fancied myself a rather handsome young lad once and then, of course, my brother broke my nose."

Any thoughts about Duncan and missing home and missing something she couldn't even put into words fell away all at once. Minerva looked up at her Head of House with a sudden new-found curiosity. "Why would your brother break your nose, sir?"

"Ah, we were having a dreadfully bad day. All of us," Dumbledore said slowly.

Minerva didn't know to whom he was referring when he said 'all of us' or what exactly had happened that day, but she did know that she had never seen such sadness on her teacher's face. Now that it was there, she wasn't sure how she could have missed it before. It seemed to be etched into every line and settled deep in his eyes, heavy and haunting, the bright blue clouded with memories. But only for a fleeting moment. And then Dumbledore blinked.

She wanted to ask. She really did. But she couldn't. She felt very strongly that this was something that needed to be given, not taken. Minerva had already caught a glimpse of it without asking, a glimpse of her teacher's pain that she hadn't even realised was there.

She wanted to comfort him. But she couldn't do that either. She was too scared. And too embarrassed. Not because she had witnessed Dumbledore's sadness, but because she had the audacity to think that she had anything to offer that would make him feel better.

After the longest silence she asked, "Did you patch things up again? You and your brother?"

"We're friendly enough," Professor Dumbledore replied, and his voice was firm again. "As you get older, you'll learn that there are some things that unfortunately cannot be forgotten, and sometimes people can't find it in their hearts to forgive them either."

"I already know that, sir," Minerva said, thinking of her parents. They loved each other. But every time they argued about something, the ugly truth lurked right there beneath the surface. That trust had been broken once.

Now it was Dumbledore who glanced at her and Minerva who didn't explain herself. She knew he wouldn't push her either.

"I feel I must apologise. I didn't mean to add to your sadness with an old man's ramblings," he said.

"You're not old, Professor," Minerva protested.

That made him laugh. "I fear, in that regard, the proof is in the pudding, as they like to say, or rather in the face that looks back at me when I look in the mirror."

"I think you have a very nice face," Minerva said, and then she desperately wanted to stick her head into a snowbank because she could feel that her cheeks were now flaming red.

Professor Dumbledore was kind enough to overlook that. "So do you. Particularly when you're not busy tormenting birds that are already encumbered by their inability to fly," he said lightly. "So, what do you say, Minerva? Will you come back inside and give Christmas at Hogwarts a chance?"

The fact that Professor Dumbledore had just addressed her by her Christian name for the first time cheered her up more than anything else. When she glanced up at her teacher, she managed a grin. "Only if you promise there will be pudding."

Her dark mood was lifted further when she saw the familiar twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes. "I'd even go so far as to swear it on Godric Gryffindor's grave, if you'd prefer to take his word over mine. I've been told he was very partial to plum pudding."

Minerva laughed, and Professor Dumbledore's word held true. There was pudding. An insane amount of pudding. In fact, the general amount of food seemed vastly disproportionate to the number of students and teachers who had stayed at the castle for Christmas.

On Christmas Day, the High Table was only manned by Professor Beery, who was wearing a funny hat that looked like a living poinsettia, Professor Dumbledore and Madam Hailstone, who looked rather nonplussed when Professor Dumbledore offered her one end of a Christmas cracker. It went off with a loud bang and set a couple of pixies loose, who promptly stole the matron's food right from under her nose and started pelting her with it. The Great Hall roared with laughter, and even Madam Hailstone joined in eventually. But that might have been because the pixies had moved on to wage war on Professor Beery's hat. The plant, whatever it was exactly, was shaking its leaves indignantly.

Minerva helped herself to a little bit of everything and she took seconds and even thirds of the pudding. She flashed Professor Dumbledore a smile when their eyes met across the hall and he raised his goblet to her in response. He quickly lowered it again before the pixies could try to snatch it.

Full to bursting, Minerva returned to her dormitory. This morning she had been pleasantly surprised to find a bunch of presents at the foot of her bed. The best gift by far had been the one from her parents. They had given her a new, highly polished Wizard's Chess set. Initially, she had been overcome with homesickness when she had unwrapped it. But now all Minerva felt was the urge to play.

She grabbed the chess set and surveyed the common room. It was fairly empty. The students who had stayed were mostly fifth- and seventh-years, who were either studying or not interested in doing anything that required any thinking on their part. It didn't take Minerva long to accept that she was out of luck, but then a bold thought ripped through her.

Tucking the chess set under her arm, she climbed out of the portrait hole and strolled through the empty castle until she reached Professor Dumbledore's study. She wasn't sure if he was there since it was the holidays and he wouldn't be working, but Minerva figured that she had nothing to lose and knocked.

No one said "Enter" right away, but she thought she heard movement inside, and eventually the door was opened.

"Merry Christmas, Professor," Minerva said with a tentative smile.

"And the same to you," Professor Dumbledore replied cheerfully, but his expression was curious. He hadn't expected her.

Before she could get cold feet, Minerva ploughed ahead and lifted the chess set she had brought. "My parents gave me this for Christmas and I was just wondering if you'd like to play?"

Every now and then people still surprised him. It didn't happen very often, but whenever it did, it usually elicited a smile from him. The not knowing made for a nice change. Being asked to play chess by a student was definitely a new one.

Albus was well aware that he was beginning to tread on dangerous ground. There weren't a lot of rules concerning the interactions between teachers and students outside of class. Even if there had been, Armando wasn't likely to enforce any of them. Horace and his Slug Club were ample proof of that. Accusing Albus of showing favouritism would have been a case of the pot calling the kettle black, as the Muggles liked to say.

Then again, Albus generally tried to hold himself to a higher standard than his colleague from Slytherin. And whatever else Horace did, he rarely spent time with only one particular student, his reasoning being, of course, that he would get more out of it if he 'collected' as many as possible.

The matter at hand was entirely different and really very simple, Albus thought. It was Christmas and Minerva had already confessed to him that she missed her family. While Albus was quite used to being alone for the holidays, it wasn't a feeling he particularly enjoyed either. And so it seemed perfectly ridiculous, almost inhumane even, not to alleviate both of their suffering with something as innocent as a game of chess.

"I must confess I haven't played in a while, but I suppose one game couldn't hurt," Albus said and stepped aside to allow her to enter his study. "Did you enjoy the pudding?" he asked as he indicated that she should sit in the armchair by the fireplace.

"I did, Professor," Minerva said as she sat down. "Perhaps I'll stay again next year just for the food."

Albus chuckled and conjured a second armchair and a table for the chessboard before he pointed his wand at the fireplace to get a fire going.

"Only, I was wondering what happens with all the… ah!" Breaking off with a sudden yelp, Minerva jumped back to her feet, causing Albus to turn around to her in alarm. He quickly lowered his wand when he spotted the reason for her surprise.

Mere moments after Minerva had settled in the armchair, which was usually Albus' chair, Fawkes had landed on the back of it. When Albus had left his private rooms and had stepped into his study to answer the door, Fawkes must have followed him. He now perched on top of the chair in all his glory and surveyed Minerva with his beady eyes.

"Is that a… a phoenix?" she asked quietly as if afraid to make loud or sudden movements.

"Indeed, it is," Albus confirmed, deciding to wait and see how this would play out.

"I never heard of anyone who kept one as a pet," Minerva protested weakly. "Other than that Quidditch team from New Zealand that has one as a mascot…"

"His name is Sparky, I believe," Albus supplied and chuckled. He had once suggested to Fawkes that he could arrange a playdate. Fawkes hadn't looked at him for a week.

Minerva eyed Fawkes warily as though she expected him to burst into flames any minute, which, theoretically, he could have done. Still, she dared to draw nearer to him.

Fawkes cocked his head curiously.

"I wouldn't exactly call him a pet," Albus said into the hushed silence. "He's more of a… friend."

"He's… magnificent," Minerva whispered and Albus had never heard her speak with such reverence before – not even, he might have added, about anything he, Albus, had done.

"Oh dear," he sighed. "You shouldn't have said that. Compliments like that go right to his head."

Fawkes did indeed fluff up his feathers and looked rather pleased with himself.

"What's his name?" Minerva asked, completely unaware that she was being bewitched.

"His name is Fawkes."

"That's way better than Sparky."

Smiling, Albus nodded. "I rather thought so, too."

"Can I… can I touch him, Professor?"

Albus looked at Fawkes, who had steadily edged closer and now presented himself on top of that armchair like a peacock. He was such an attention hog sometimes. "I daresay you can."

Carefully, Minerva reached out to stroke the crimson and gold plumage. Fawkes closed his eyes in approval.

"His feathers are so warm," Minerva noted.

"Oh yes, he could burn the both of us instantly if he wanted to," Albus replied as he sat down to set up the chess game. When he saw Minerva flinch, he added, "But he wouldn't do that. Phoenixes are very gentle creatures and extremely loyal when they do form attachments."

"How long have you had him?"

"Time is of very little consequence to a phoenix as they are immortal," Albus replied. "The same, however, cannot be said for the two of us. So, would you care to begin?" He pointed towards the chessboard.

Hesitantly, Minerva sat back down. Every now and then she still glanced up at Fawkes, but eventually she seemed to get used to his presence and focused on the game.

"I don't want you to let me win, Professor," she said after she had made the opening move since Albus had given her the white pieces. It had seemed only right.

Now he heaved a sigh. "That's the problem with being moderately more talented at certain things than others. People will automatically assume that I must be good at everything else, too, when in fact I might be just as hopeless as they are."

Minerva gave him a very sceptical look, which was something he had noticed about her early on. She wasn't easily fooled or intimated. "What are you not good at then, sir?"

"I can't for the life of me carry a tune. And I've been told that I'm rubbish at Christmas tree decorating."

"Christmas tree decorating, sir?" she repeated with a lopsided grin while one of her pawns hit one of his over the head with all the enthusiasm of a chess piece that just got to play its first game.

"Oh yes, it takes a lot of thought and effort to make Hogwarts look this magical, you see," Albus nodded and he was only partially kidding about that. "Speaking of thought and effort…" he added with a smile when Minerva tried to order her knight to move and it turned around on its horse to argue with her about whether that move was advisable or not.

"Sorry, Professor," she said. "It's a new set."

"That's all right. The temperamental ones are always the good ones, aren't they?" Albus replied.

Minerva watched his next move and scowled. "Your pieces aren't arguing with you."

"Perhaps they think that I made a good move."

"But you didn't. It was terrible," she said bluntly and proved it by sending her Queen after his Bishop. It was quite literally kicked off the board. Fawkes watched with interest as it landed on the floor with a thud.

Albus suppressed a laugh. As her teacher he should have been watching out for her manners, but he found her honesty to be refreshing. "Then this is most likely a case of magic recognising magic."

Minerva looked up in surprise. "The chessboard knows that you're more powerful than me?"

"Let's say more experienced, and yes, magic always leaves traces if you know how to look for it."

She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll have enough time to learn it all."

"Oh, I think you've already learned a great deal," Albus said, amused.

"Yes, but there's always more."

"And that is exactly as it should be."

They made a couple of moves each without any additional conversation. "Who taught you how to play chess?" Albus wondered.

"My father," she replied, her eyes still on the board. "He told me I could learn a lot about people by how they play chess."

"Have you learned anything about me yet?" Albus asked curiously.

"You're playing defensively, Professor. You don't sacrifice your pieces unless you absolutely have to. Not even the pawns."

"Well, I always thought being a pawn in Wizard's Chess must be a very hard existence," Albus said.

One of his pawns turned around and said, "Hear, hear!"

"It's still only a game," Minerva pointed out.

"So you're saying that winning is more important than an act of kindness?" Albus couldn't help but ask this rather leading question. He was still a teacher after all.

Minerva looked up at him and smiled. "No, but it's fun. Checkmate, Professor."

Albus lowered his eyes to the board. "Oh, well played," he laughed, even though his King gave him a very nasty look when he was forced to hand over his crown to her Queen.