A/N: I had some time to write over the Easter holidays. So here's the next chapter.

18. Boundaries

Albus had just pocketed a pumpkin pasty for Fawkes –these pasties were really the only reason why he was still attending Horace's Slug Club parties – when Horace himself appeared next to him.

"Have you seen Minerva anywhere?" he asked.

Somewhat surprised that Horace was on a first-name basis with her, Albus replied rather succinctly, "I have not."

"Oh, well, I guess I'll have to keep looking then. I set up a meeting with Bob Ogden for her and she's usually so punctual," Horace muttered distractedly, already craning his neck to scan his party crowd.

"A meeting?" Albus asked, arching an eyebrow. "Have you asked Minerva whether she actually wanted you to do that?"

"Relax, Albus, there's no harm in two people having a chat at a party," Horace waved him off. "Not everyone is as averse to making contacts as you are. Blimey, I hope you didn't pass that on to her."

With that rather rude observation, Horace moved on.

Meanwhile, Albus surveyed the room with renewed interest. His eyes landed on a girl or rather a young woman, as he should say by now, who was sitting in a well-hidden corner by the window, gazing out into the night. She had strikingly blond, curly hair and a remarkably straight nose. She didn't look familiar at first glance, which was nothing unusual at a Slug party. As Horace loved to spin his little web of contacts and connections, he regularly invited guests from outside of Hogwarts, preferably people he had once taught and "collected" himself.

However, the young woman by the window didn't look old enough to have graduated yet. Also, she was wearing familiar square-shaped glasses.

With a soft shake of his head, Albus chuckled. The sixth-years in his N.E.W.T. class had started working on Human Transfigurations mere months ago. Considering the complexity of the subject and the required level of skill, that was not a lot of time. And yet, here he saw it very cleverly made use of with apparent ease and a certain amount of bravado. This really should no longer surprise him, but it was still remarkable.

After making sure that Horace was nowhere near him, Albus drifted over to that window. "Fancy seeing you here this evening, Minerva," he said.

She jumped in surprise, causing her hair to fall into her face. Not yet used to its new colour and curly texture, she cringed. "How did you know it was me?" she asked sharply.

Luckily, Albus knew that she wasn't criticising him. She was merely upset to learn that there was a flaw in her plan. "I told you, magic always leaves a trace," Albus replied. "Also, your glasses."

"Right, I didn't know what to do with them. I didn't want to mess up the prescription by accident," she acknowledged with a sigh.

"I must say I'm glad you didn't change them as well. It would be a terrible shame were you to disappear completely," he told her.

Perched on the windowsill, Minerva fidgeted a little. "I'm sorry. I know we're not supposed to experiment outside of class."

"I don't think what you have done can accurately be described as 'experimenting,'" Albus hedged. "I almost feel as though I should award Gryffindor points for it."

"I wouldn't mind, Professor," she said quickly and they exchanged a smile based on their mutual interest in the success of their house.

Albus leaned against the window. "First, would you like to enlighten me as to what you hoped to accomplish by attending this party in this rather clever disguise?"

She didn't respond right away, taking some time to think about her answer. "I couldn't decide if I wanted Professor Slughorn to introduce me to someone from the Ministry. So now I'm here and at the same time I'm not. I know he's looking for me. He already walked past me twice."

Not surprised to hear her say that, Albus gave a little sigh. "I hope you're aware that you are under no obligation to fulfil Professor Slughorn's expectations in this matter?"

"Have you tried telling him no? Sir?" She gave him a dubious look.

"I... see your point," Albus conceded.

"The thing is I actually want to talk to Mr Ogden. I have questions." Minerva held up a scroll of parchment and Albus could see that it was filled from top to bottom with her neat handwriting.

He suppressed a smirk. He hoped for Mr Ogden's sake that he had the answers to those questions. "Then what is stopping you, other than the fascinating view out of this window?"

"What if I talk to him and he likes me and then if I were to get a job at the Ministry, I'd always have to wonder if it's only because Professor Slughorn took a liking to me?" she asked, honestly chagrined.

If this hadn't weighed so heavily on her, it would have been rather comical. It was astounding that Horace was so fond of her (or at least of the potential he saw in her), even though the two of them couldn't have been more fundamentally different. Albus wished Horace could see her now and understand that she was the only one who deserved credit for all that integrity and virtue in her heart. He, Albus, had had nothing to do with it. Or, perhaps, only marginally so. Sadly, Horace wouldn't see these qualities in quite the same light as Albus did.

"I know Professor Slughorn likes to think differently, but he doesn't actually have that kind of pull at the Ministry," Albus assured her. "If someone at the Ministry were to think favourably of you after your conversation with Mr Ogden tonight, then that would very much be your accomplishment and no one else's."

"But still facilitated by Professor Slughorn," she argued. "I'd have to send him a Christmas present for the rest of my life. He already told me that Bungbarrel Spiced Mead is his favourite."

"Is that so? Then I suppose I have been sending him the wrong one all these years. That, actually, rather explains a lot."

Minerva's laughter rang out, soft and pure. It seemed to fill her with renewed confidence. "You think I should talk to him then? Sir?"

This was the second time she had almost forgotten to address him properly, but then again, they were at a party after all. "I think I have never known you to walk away from a challenge," Albus replied.

"Right." She slid off the windowsill and straightened her dress. "Uh, would you mind turning my hair back, Professor? Changing it back is still a little tricky and I really don't want to stay a blonde!"

This would have made for an excellent teaching moment. But seeing as Horace had forced her into this situation, Albus decided it was all right for him to help her get out of it. He reached for his wand and did as she had asked.

"Would you also like me to fix your nose?"

Quickly covering it with her hands, Minerva said, "Oh, um, I thought I might keep it for a while. It turned out a lot better than I thought it would."

"But it is not your nose," Albus pointed out patiently.

"Oh, all right," she said, lowering her hands.

Once her appearance was completely back to normal, Albus gave her a nod and smiled to himself when she didn't simply trust his word but checked her reflection in the window.

Apparently satisfied, she squared her shoulders and marched off after offering him a grateful little smile.

Albus watched her go and under the circumstances he decided that he did not feel bad pocketing another pumpkin pasty.

It was late. Really late. As in past curfew kind of late.

But she was a prefect and so she wouldn't get into serious trouble for another hour or so. Also, almost all the teachers loved her. She'd need to have the great misfortune of running into Apollyon Pringle, who most certainly didn't like her. And the feeling was mutual. Actually, she would rather enjoy running into him as long as she was allowed to tell him exactly how...

No, Minerva mentally chided herself. She shouldn't be thinking like that. Not even about the caretaker. That was only the excitement in her talking. The anticipation.

She'd had an idea. A thought. A plan. A need to act, and to do it now.

It had come to her completely out of the blue after she had fallen asleep on top of the books her parents had given her for her birthday. It seemed to have emerged from some dark corner of her mind fully formed. As if it had really always been there, merely biding its time. As if it had always known that she would eventually be brave enough to see the truth.

That she was meant to do this.

All right, maybe she was riding on a high and had done so ever since she had returned from the summer holidays with ten O.W.L.s in her pocket and not one but two shiny badges pinned to the front of her robes. But perhaps that was exactly what had given her the push she had needed.

Minerva skidded to a stop outside Professor Dumbledore's study and knocked. Somehow she knew with absolute certainty that he would still be awake. And indeed, when he told her to enter, she found him sitting behind his desk, looking at her with an expression of mild surprise.

"Minerva. To what do I owe this very late pleasure?" he asked.

She took a step closer, but she was too excited to sit right now so she remained standing. She also didn't try to beat around the bush. "I want to become an Animagus."

Professor Dumbledore's face was completely unreadable. "I beg your pardon?"

Impatiently, Minerva rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. She knew Dumbledore sometimes liked to pretend that he was clueless when in truth he was always the first in any given situation to grasp what was going on. He had probably got used to giving others time to arrive at the same conclusions that he, being a genius, had already drawn. It was certainly a brilliant way of teaching.

But Minerva wasn't a first-year anymore. She wasn't clueless, and neither was Dumbledore. She didn't have the necessary patience right now to pretend otherwise.

"I want you to teach me to become an Animagus," she repeated and somewhat belatedly she added, "Sir."

She had just realised that she should have also gone with "please" when Professor Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond.

"No."

"No?" Minerva echoed, dumbfounded. Nowhere in her brilliant plan had that word factored in.

"I believe we discussed the meaning of that little word at the end of last term and you promised to listen to me next time." Professor Dumbledore sounded weary. By now Minerva knew that the absence of humour in his voice was never a good sign.

She hated to eat her own words, but this simply wouldn't do. "But why not?" she asked.

"I'm not in the habit of explaining my decisions to students, certainly not at such a late hour," Professor Dumbledore tried to brush her off.

That might have worked when Minerva was younger but not anymore. "That's not true, sir. Every reasonable question deserves a reasonable answer. You've always said that." She knew she needed to do as Dumbledore always did. Express her assuredness that she was right by remaining exceedingly calm. It wasn't something that came easily to her, unfortunately.

But Minerva could tell that it was working by the mix of exasperation and acknowledgement in Professor Dumbledore's eyes. "Very well. The process of becoming an Animagus is long and arduous. Given your desire to achieve top marks in all eight of your N.E.W.T. classes, to continue to serve this school as a prefect and ideally win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor, I do not believe that to attempt this process would be wise or even possible."

Having overcome some of her shock at Professor Dumbledore's instant refusal, Minerva was beginning to feel more confident again. She had expected that argument. "I know it's a lot, but I'm not fourteen anymore. I know how to handle it now. I can schedule Quidditch practice at my leisure. It's once or twice a week, same as the prefect rotation for patrolling the corridors, and I can do my homework before or after, which leaves at least one night a week plus the weekend for further study."

"I see you have automatically assumed that my weekends are also free and readily available to be made use of in order to help you achieve your goals?" Dumbledore pointed out a flaw in her plan. Admittedly, Minerva hadn't really considered his time and availability in all of this.

"Um, no, I mean, it doesn't have to be weekends…"

"Regardless of my willingness to commit time and effort to your pursuit, there's another more important argument," Professor Dumbledore continued. "Attempting to become an Animagus is not only extremely difficult, it is also even more dangerous. It requires patience, courage and a sense of self that goes beyond what most witches and wizards are capable of. It's known to have ended in disaster more often than it has led to success."

Minerva knew that her Head of House thought this was the biggest counterargument. In truth, the thought that she might fail a class because of the distraction this would be scared her more than any talk of danger. She had a healthy respect for the process, but there was no fear.

"I know. I've read everything I could find about it. I'm not afraid," she said.

Surprisingly, that was the wrong answer. "Therein lies the problem because you truly ought to be," Dumbledore said grimly. "We're talking about permanent mutations of the body that neither Madam Hailstone nor I would stand any chance of reversing. To say nothing of the dangers to one's mind."

The deadly seriousness in Professor Dumbledore's voice did not fail to impress her and Minerva was ready to admit that she had got a little overexcited tonight. But that didn't change anything about her burning desire and commitment to the idea.

Which seemed to be written all over her face because Professor Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "Why exactly is it that you suddenly wish to do this?" he asked.

"Actually, I think I always wanted to, ever since you first told us about it in class, but I knew I wasn't good enough yet. Now that I'm of age and that I'm getting the hang of Human Transfigurations…"

"There's a world of difference between Human Transfigurations and becoming an Animagus."

"I realise that," Minerva nodded. "And that's just it, sir. It's the only branch of Transfiguration magic that I haven't tried yet. The only one I won't ever learn because it's not on the Hogwarts syllabus." She had checked.

"Because none of your classmates could possibly achieve it," Dumbledore said.

Minerva's eyes lit up when she realised how carefully he had phrased that sentence. "But I can. That's what you're saying, isn't it? You know I could do this!"

Professor Dumbledore did not respond.

Hoping that this was her first real opening, Minerva hurried to say, "I know this isn't to be taken on lightly, Professor. I understand the risks. But I feel as if my education wouldn't be complete without at least having tried it. Those wizards who ended up mutilated probably didn't know what they were doing. They didn't have the right teacher. I would do everything exactly as you'd tell me to, sir. I trust you."

She had uttered those words in complete confidence, but it felt as if they simply hovered in the empty space between them, unable to bridge the stony silence that still emanated from Professor Dumbledore.

Eventually, he said, "I have told you before that your faith in me is misplaced. I cannot allow you to take such a grave and unnecessary risk. And that, I'm afraid, is my final word."

At first, Minerva felt nothing but utter confusion. Dumbledore had never refused to teach her before. Not when she had made such a reasonable request. She wasn't ignorant of the risks, but all magic posed some risk. She couldn't understand why this was supposedly any different.

Suddenly her confusion turned to resentment, bordering on anger. Even though she had only just proclaimed that she wasn't a young girl anymore, some things hadn't changed. She still didn't know how to handle a teacher telling her that there was something she could not do.

"I understand, sir," she said as calm and collected as possible. "You don't want to teach me. But I'm of age and free to decide if I want to do this. Perhaps Professor Slughorn will be able to help me with the potion."

There was a sudden flash of fury in Professor Dumbledore's eyes that immediately made Minerva regret her words. "Professor Slughorn, while certainly a highly accomplished Potions master, would have no knowledge of the intricacies of this particular process," he informed her sharply.

Having pushed this argument as far as she already had, Minerva saw no other way out of this than by saying, "Then I will work it out on my own."

That's when Professor Dumbledore slowly but deliberately rose from his chair, his eyes ablaze. As long as Minerva could remember he had always seemed so very tall and also a little intimidating. In this moment she realised that she had grown so much that she was now almost level with him. But of course, she would never be truly level with Albus Dumbledore and his tone said as much when he spoke.

"I regret that I have given you the impression that this is up for debate. I can assure you that I'm quite serious about this. If you attempt to become an Animagus without my permission, I will have you expelled."

The silence that followed that warning was absolute.

Minerva couldn't have been more shocked if he had pointed his wand at her and uttered an Unforgivable Curse. "You wouldn't," she barely managed to breathe.

"Oh yes, I would," Dumbledore confirmed coolly. "Between the two of us, it seems I'm the only one who values your life a lot more than your pride."

No matter how much she had grown and what she had learned about her Head of House, she had always felt protected. From the moment he had gone out of his way to welcome her in Gryffindor. Now Minerva felt as though he had only offered her a hand so he could eventually put her in her place.

It was beyond anything she had ever thought possible and her rage was all-consuming. Since there was nothing she could do about it, Minerva turned on the spot and stormed out of his office, some of her fiercest beliefs shattered.