"Why not take the whole day off?" Her good friend Albus suggested, making Minerva pause mid-sentence as he looked at her over his half-moon glasses.
"When I must escort the lass to Diagon Alley?" She questioned slowly. The witch raised an eyebrow as if to express how absurd she thought it was. Minerva knew how much work she had to complete by September, and as much as she would like to, he knew she had little time t—
"Filius has already agreed," he said before she could open her mouth. "It won't impose on his holiday, provide you with a break, if you will, as well as the opportunity to seek more feedback and opinions—including the trip—and for the Introductory Wizarding Classes we discussed this morning, would it not? From what you have told me, a keen set of eyes and mind may be what we need."
He was... admittedly right. Certainly. And the girl, whether she knew much of it or not, had already helped her tremendously.
Perhaps it was that and the stupefied and absolute, fixated wonder she remembered brightening Miss Llewellyn's eyes, or the intensity of the excited magic she felt spilling from her—however short-lived both were—after she transfigured the mug into a gosling that endeared her to the child, allowing herself to be persuaded by Albus and his twinkling blue eyes the next day.