Minerva's Mortification
II: Minerva’s Mortification
“Hmm, interesting idea, Professor McGonagall. Certainly an interesting idea.”
Minerva whirled around at the sound of Albus Dumbledore’s voice. “Professor Dumbledore, I mean Headmaster, er, I mean Albus, I didn’t know that you were there.”
The Headmaster smiled slightly and said, “I presumed you were unaware. Yes, indeed.” He shifted slightly in a way that would suggest awkwardness in anyone else. He continued quietly, “I Flooed the Ministry and spoke with, how did you so elegantly refer to her,” Albus gazed off, as if trying to remember, “ah, yes, ‘the Minister for something-or-other’ and told her that as I had pressing business with a colleague, I would need to postpone our discussion of Britain’s participation in the International Wizarding Treaty on Extradition and Asylum until a later time. I also decided that I could wait until tomorrow morning to apply the potion that Aberforth has given me to test, even though it may skew his results some. Did you know that my brother Aberforth was quite good at Potions in his youth? Hmm, probably not. But he was. He is also possessed of a rather entrepreneurial spirit and continually attempts to combine the two, to a greater or lesser degree of success. Most recently, he has been creating a goats’-milk-based potion designed to condition the beard of men past a certain age. Obviously, one of the drawbacks of this potion is that each application requires an uninterrupted half-hour, but Aberforth assures me that once he has refined the potion, he will be able shorten its working time. Personally, I do not know whether this enterprise will be more profitable than his last, in which daily ingestion of a certain potion made with goat horn powder was supposed to renew a man’s vigour, hmm. It had certain rather unfortunate side effects that limited its marketability. Yes, well. Hmm.”
As Albus shifted again, Poppy thought that the Headmaster did look as though he was feeling awkward, and he had sounded as though he were rambling. But Albus never rambled. Meandered a bit, perhaps, but never rambled. Minerva simply stood, rooted to the spot, turned towards Albus, her mouth slightly open; from her vantage point behind the desk, Poppy could just discern a glazed and disbelieving expression fixed in Minerva’s eyes.
Poppy didn’t know what to say or do, but it was clear to her that Minerva was even more at a loss than she, so she rose and came around the desk to stand between them.
“Minerva was a little overwrought, Albus, before you came in. I’m afraid your timing was not particularly good.” Poppy tried to smile at her boss.
“I understand, Poppy. I had been looking for her and thought it likely I would find her with you.” An uneasy hesitation left unsaid that he had not thought it likely that he would find her in such a state. Looking in Minerva’s direction, he continued, “Well, it seems that this is not a good time for us to meet, after all, as I see that you are engaged with your friend here. Perhaps we could speak during lunch.” Without waiting for Minerva’s reply, Albus nodded at her, then at Poppy, and said, “Good morning until then.”
With that, Minerva and Poppy found themselves alone in the hospital wing again. Minerva groaned and put her face in her hands. As she slumped forward, she felt Poppy’s reassuring arm around her, guiding her to a chair.
“Oh, Poppy, what have I done? Any respect he might have had for me is certainly gone now. And why did I have to make all of those assumptions? All of my interpretations were completely incorrect! He has been trying to fit me in amongst all of his other commitments. Even the business with his beard,” she wailed, “was not about him. I thought he was just being vain and putting his personal grooming above his meeting with me!” Minerva was as close to hysterical as Poppy had seen her in years.
“There, there. I’m sure the Headmaster understands, Minerva.” Poppy kept one arm around Minerva’s shoulders as she Summoned the other guest chair and sat down beside her.
“What? What does he understand? That I am an immature, self-centred witch? That I am a disrespectful employee who should be fired? If ever I hoped to gain his respect, this has certainly destroyed any chance of it.” Minerva shook herself and sat up a bit straighter, trying to regain control of her emotions. “He won’t fire me, though, even if I deserve it. He’s Albus Dumbledore and he won’t fire me. I should quit for his sake.”
“Now don’t be silly, Minerva. You are not doing the cowardly thing and quitting! You know it would be self-serving of you, initially, just until the shock of your embarrassment wore off; then you would regret it.” Minerva did not protest this estimation, so Poppy continued, “First off, I’m sure he’s heard much worse – hush, now, don’t interrupt! – and he knows you well enough to know that you are normally very composed and respectful. A-a-ah! What did I say?” chided Poppy as Minerva opened her mouth to protest. “I don’t want to have to put a Silencio on you! As you say, he has been making time for you in his very busy schedule. He wants you to be successful, Minerva! You were his shining star, you know, when we were students. He always tried to be fair and not play favourites, but it was clear even to us younger years that you were special. And you deserved to be. You have a wonderful talent for Transfiguration, Minerva, and on top of that talent, you work very hard. You could have done half as much work as you did and still achieved an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Transfiguration, but you didn’t. You pushed yourself. If there were a grade above ‘Outstanding,’ you would have got it. Minerva, he hired you because he believed in you. He could have got someone else to fill the post, as you weren’t available until last December, but instead, he exhausted himself fulfilling the duties of both Headmaster and Transfiguration teacher for over a year, insisting to the Board of Governors that no one but Minerva McGonagall was right for this job and that, unless the Ministry wanted to let you out of your contract early, Hogwarts would just have to wait for you.”
Minerva sniffed and rubbed her tears from her cheeks with the back of her wand hand. “I thought he just didn’t want to let go of teaching. I was rather insulted when he first told me that I was only taking the first five years and he’d take the sixth- and seventh-years through June. I didn’t want to wait until September to teach NEWTs level classes; I thought he was trying to keep the most interesting classes to himself.” She sniffed again.
“Of course not, Minerva! He always enjoyed teaching, to be sure, but I really don’t think he has the time to miss it very much. He wanted to take the sixth- and seventh-years because he didn’t want to disrupt the students’ lessons in their NEWTs years when it’s so important they not be distracted by such a sudden change. Not to mention that it gave you time to adjust and get used to teaching. And he did let you take the fifth-year OWL classes. That showed faith in your abilities.”
“I know. I see that now. Of course, it was easy to teach the fifth-years – they were already so far ahead in the lessons. And most of them would have been able to take their OWLs when I took over in December. January through June was more or less revision of everything they’d already learned, as well as an opportunity for those a little weak in the subject to come up to standard and have some extra attention from me.” She sniffed again. “Well, even if he still thinks I’m a competent Transfiguration mistress and teacher, he certainly must have lost respect for me personally and professionally after hearing my entirely unjustified and childish tirade.”
“Well, now, listen to you, will you! Just a few minutes ago you were in here ranting and raving that he didn’t respect you; now you see you were wrong about that, so you have decided that you must have lost his respect now. Minerva McGonagall, I don’t think it’s his respect you’re after, that’s what I think.”
“Whatever do you mean? Of course it’s about respect! Why on earth did he have to call me a ‘good girl,’ as though I were still some pesky but obedient student? It was like stepping back in time, Poppy. I felt as though I was just another one of his students again.”
“Minerva, haven’t I told you that you were never ‘just another one of his students’? And whilst I do think that you don’t want him to view you as a student, that you want Albus to recognize Minerva McGonagall as the fully-fledged witch she has become, I really don’t think it’s about respect – or at least it’s not only about gaining his respect.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Poppy. You really aren’t making much sense.” She Conjured a glass of water and drank deeply. “Although perhaps you are right: it’s not just about gaining his respect; it’s about gaining it and keeping it.” Minerva gave a shuddering sigh. “And I can’t do either if I behave like I did today. No, Poppy, I must be all business. I need to maintain my professional demeanor at all times. He should never have been able to overhear all that because I never should have been speaking that way anywhere that anyone could just walk in. What if it were term time and a student overheard me speaking like that about their Headmaster? They would lose respect both for me and for him.”
“Well, you are right about that last, but I also believe you would have been more discreet during term time – or if you had any expectation that someone might interrupt us – but with all the students gone and so many of the staff away, you let your hair down.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right, Poppy, but he still must think what I said was terrible. He must think I don’t respect him at all.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way. I think he was embarrassed, both for his own sake as well as yours. I also believe that he was thinking more of your discomfort than of his. Whilst it may not have been tactful of him to emerge from the shadows just when he did, you really hadn’t said anything too badly embarrassing until after I’d already spotted him in the doorway and I couldn’t get you to put a plug in it and stop talking. I think Albus had heard enough to know that you were distressed and he felt that he’d upset you. My feeling about it, looking back, is that he wanted to reassure you that you have an important place here. It was just unfortunate that you continued carrying on after expressing your, um, distaste for the term ‘good girl.’”
“‘Continued carrying on!’ It was worse than that, Poppy. I remember very well what I said – and, no, I won’t repeat it.” Minerva sighed again and closed her eyes; a few more tears leaked out and ran down her cheeks.
“I think it likely that he feels more hurt by that than anything else, Minerva. You didn’t see his face just then, but he went completely blank, and the colour drained from his face. It was like watching a little boy who had just been told his pet Crup had died and who was trying not to cry.”
“Oh, Poppy, what should I do? What can I do? He really has been good to me, you know, meeting with me about classes and such.” Minerva sighed and twisted the handkerchief she’d finally thought to pull from her pocket. “During term, there were a few times when I didn’t make it to dinner because I was so busy with grading and preparing for lessons, and he actually brought me a tray himself. It would have been thoughtful enough if he’d sent a house-elf in with something, but he brought it himself.” Minerva sat, shaking her head, struggling not to start tearing up again.
“Well, you have been downright foolish, Minerva McGonagall, if you ask me, thinking the Headmaster doesn’t respect you or care for you! I don’t think Headmaster Dippet ever brought anyone dinner, and he was known to be an old softie. Of course, you would have heard about it from him the next day if you missed a meal, and been instructed to be sure to get a sandwich from the kitchens and keep your strength up if you missed dinner again. If it happened too often, you might even get an avuncular lecture about the perils of overwork, but I can’t say that Dippet would ever have brought you dinner himself, even if you missed it seven days running.” Poppy didn’t add that she’d never heard of Dumbledore bringing anyone dinner personally, either; she didn’t want Minerva to feel any worse than she already did.
“He even brought me macaroni and cheese one night. He said he remembered that when I was a student I seemed to like the house-elves’ macaroni and cheese and he hoped I still did,” she sniffed.
“Now do you agree with me that you have been very foolish?”
“Yes,” Minerva sighed. “But what will he think of me? And what can I say to him?”
“Hmm, considering how he seems to know you fairly well, I think that he will realise soon, if not at this moment, that you were speaking out of a sense of hurt and from your own insecurity – although clearly he doesn't know you well enough to avoid calling you a good girl or to realise that his tardiness would feel like an insult to you.”
“Insecurity!” Minerva straightened and looked directly at Poppy for the first time since Albus had left. “I am not insecure!”
“Not generally, no,” soothed Poppy. “But with regard to your position here at Hogwarts, and vis-a-vis Albus, especially, you are. Think about it before you reject the idea outright. I also think you should consider what else might be at play besides a desire for his respect.”
“But it’s almost quarter to eleven now! Lunch is in just over an hour! He said he would speak to me at lunch.” Minerva was clearly beginning to panic anew.
“Then go back to your rooms, have a bath, put on something fresh, and come to lunch looking like the accomplished, composed witch you wish Albus to see.”
Receiving that good advice, Minerva rose, thanked her friend with a hug, and left for a restorative bath and a good long think.