Resolving a Misunderstanding

Fifteen years later, Minerva stretched in her bath and wished that she still felt only that youthful desire to assist her favourite professor. She shook her head, stood, and stepped from the bathtub, reaching for one of the fluffy white towels Blampa had brought her. Distractedly, she dried her legs, then drew the large towel around her loosely. The ends of her long black hair were wet from floating in the bath. Summoning her wand, Minerva dried it reflexively.

Minerva served herself the last cup of tea from the pot, this time with no honey. After taking a sip, she set her cup down on the bathroom vanity and looked at herself in the mirror. Even after her bath, she could see how Blampa had known that she was not herself that morning. Somehow, between the time she had left her rooms and headed to the Headmaster’s office and the time that she had returned, she had developed puffy circles under her eyes, and she was sure that her face must have been blotchy red. Although she hadn’t cried much, the tears she had wept and those left unshed had made their mark on her face.

Minerva wet a flannel with cold water from the sink and patted her face and eyes with it, wanting to have her face return to normal as much as possible before taking any more drastic measures. She drank a swallow of tea and brushed her hair out, regretting the drying charm that had left so much static in it. As she finished brushing her hair, she saw the plates of biscuits that Blampa had brought. Well, she was feeling a bit shaky, still, and had only had tea and a crumpet for breakfast. A biscuit might do her good. She reached for the shortbread, her favourite, then hesitated and picked up one of the ginger newts that Blampa had claimed tasted “happy.” Good to have something happy here since she wasn’t, Minerva thought acerbically. She bit into the biscuit, discovering it to be crisp on the outside, but chewy with molasses on the inside. Hmm. As she chewed, the spices warmed her tongue and tickled her palate. Sweet, but warmly spicy, and both hard and soft. Was that what Blampa considered a “happy” taste? She had eaten them before, of course, but had never developed a particular liking for them. Munching on a second ginger newt, she carried it and her teacup into her bedroom, where she set the cup and saucer on her dressing table and considered what she should wear.

As she removed knickers, chemise, and stockings from the drawer in her wardrobe, she thought again of the words Albus had overheard her say that morning. Now, she had moved beyond merely being mortified that he had heard them and worrying about what he would think of her, to worrying even more about how he had reacted and whether he had been terribly hurt. She sat on the edge of the bed, putting her underwear down beside her. The towel slipped from her shoulders, and she pushed the damp cloth to the floor. She didn’t usually simply drop her clothes or towels on the floor, heedless, but today she was too tired and preoccupied to banish them to the laundry basket.

Minerva flopped back, legs dangling from the edge of the bed, and thought about Albus. Albus, who had been nothing but good to her since she was a child. Poppy said that when she had uttered those now-despised words, Albus had looked like a little boy whose pet Crup had died and who was trying not to cry. Those thoughts undid any good the cool flannel may have done, as tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head and looked at the afghan that lay folded at the foot of her bed. The afghan had no particular home: sometimes on her bed, sometimes on the settee in her small sitting room, sometimes draped across the back of a chair, but always nearby.

Minerva reached out a hand and gently stroked the soft wool of blues, greens, and greys. It had been a very thoughtful present, typical of the giver. They had had such a nice evening when he had given it to her. She sobbed, thinking that she had probably ruined their friendship that morning with her inability to hold her temper and with her extremely ill-chosen words. Pulling the afghan toward her, Minerva hugged it to herself; great, racking sobs began to shake her body. Rolling to her side, she pulled up her knees and wept as she hadn’t wept in many years. How could she have hurt him like that, the man she loved so much?

Her tears subsided. She Accio’d a handkerchief, scrubbed at her face, and blew her nose loudly. Less than a half hour until lunch. She couldn’t arrive in such a state. Remembering Poppy’s words about looking like an accomplished, composed witch, she dragged herself off the bed, shaking out and refolding the afghan, sniffling only a little as she did so.

She pulled on her underwear, grateful for the Automagically-Adjusting Support Charm on her chemise. Initially, she had thought it an extravagance – what witch worth her wand can’t cast a Support Charm? – but it had been a gift from Melina. Minerva soon grew to appreciate the convenience of not have to cast the Charm every time she dressed and had since acquired a few more. This one was the prettiest, though: a thin white batiste with enough lace and eyelet to be feminine, but not so much as to be gaudy, and tiny mother-of-pearl buttons all down the front. It was also cut low enough so that she could wear it with any of her robes, not just her teaching garb.

Sitting at her vanity, Minerva summoned her wand from the bathroom. Looking at her blotchy, swollen features, she decided she’d deal with her face last. With a few waves of her wand, she had her hair pulled back and twisted into a tight bun at the back of her head. Minerva sighed. Too tight, too severe. And Minerva had a splitting headache. Another wave or two and she had done away with the bun and replaced it with a very loose French twist held in place with a few charmed hairpins. It wouldn’t stand up to a Quidditch match, even in the spectators’ stands, but it would stay in place well enough for lunch in the Great Hall.

Minerva went to her wardrobe and pulled out a lightweight robe of a pale, mossy, greenish-grey. The loose sleeves, which belled slightly at the wrist, and sweetheart neckline made it more comfortable at this time of year than most of her teaching robes, which she’d bought in the dead of the Scottish winter. The skirt fell fairly straight from the waist, then gently flared below the knee. Over this, Minerva drew on a sleeveless red tartan over-robe. She fastened the three braided frogs across the bodice, then turned to look in the mirror. No, no, all wrong. Tossing that one on her bed, she chose instead a sleeveless overrobe of green tartan linen with no fastenings in front. Almost as long as the other robe in the back, in front, it fell open across the breast then cut away from the waist in a sweeping curve. It would have to do, she thought, looking in the mirror. She raised her wand and cast a few quick charms, reducing the puffy redness of her face and then concealing what couldn’t be eliminated.

Perched on the edge of her bed, Minerva pulled on her stockings, which were charmed to stay up without garters, then Summoned her soft, pale brown shoes. Slipping them on, she decided that she couldn’t afford to think about It at the moment since she would be seeing Albus shortly. With a long, shaky sigh, she realised she would have to think about It sometime soon, though. She did not want to. But it now seemed that the ramifications of not dealing with It were worse than whatever conclusions she might draw at the end of her examination.

She might need to leave Hogwarts, one way or the other, but Poppy was right: she couldn’t simply flee in a panic. If she were to leave, it had to be for very good reasons. One uncontrollable outburst was simply not enough. Unless Albus thought it was. Remembering again Poppy’s description – like he was “trying not to cry” – brought a lump to Minerva’s throat again. She doubted that Albus would fire her for what she said – or even for his hurt feelings – but what if he decided that he couldn’t work with her after that? What if every time he saw her, he remembered what she’d said and was hurt all over again?

Minerva could curse herself for having injured him and for possibly having done irreparable harm to their friendship. If only It hadn’t insinuated Its unwanted, inconvenient, and inappropriate presence so many years ago, and then had the ill-grace to settle down and make Itself at home, all because of a special project . . . .

Minerva had passed her OWLs with flying colours, achieving an “Outstanding” in Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defence, Herbology and, of course, Transfiguration, and an “Exceeds Expectations” in Arithmancy, Astronomy, History of Magic, and Potions, as well as a rather disappointing “Acceptable” in Divination, which, once she got over being miffed about it, didn’t bother Minerva, as she didn’t want “to waste time with such rubbish” during her NEWTs years, anyway. Although her exam results would not be available until mid-summer, Professor Dumbledore had met with her at the end of her fifth-year to discuss her NEWT-level courses. It also happened that he had a special project that he hoped she would take on, as well.

After discussing which subjects Minerva would continue with in her sixth-year and deciding that, if her OWL results were as expected, she would take Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Charms, Defence, and Transfiguration, and possibly Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Potions, as well, Dumbledore made his suggestion.

“An Animagus? You think that I could become an Animagus?” Minerva didn’t know whether to be excited, flattered, doubtful, or possibly even frightened – everyone had heard stories of witches and wizards who tried to turn themselves into an animal and who only ended up in St. Mungo’s, sometimes for a very long stay. Studying the rudimentary theory of Animagus transformation in class had intrigued her, but Professor Dumbledore had steered her toward other special projects when she had suggested that she’d like to read more about Animagi.

“I certainly believe that it is worth working on. You have an innate sense for Transfiguration, Minerva; you also have an excellent grasp of theory, as well as the practical skills and diligence required. Few possess all of these qualities in sufficient measure to actually achieve an Animagus form. They may grasp the theory, but have no intuition, no feeling, for Transfiguration. Or they may possess the innate sense and theoretical basis, but lack the skills necessary. But even all of that is insufficient without diligence, care, motivation, and hard work. I believe you possess all the requisites to become an Animagus. But only if you wish to,” Albus added. “It is a great deal of work and will require time and energy from you that you could spend on other pursuits. I leave it up to you.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore!” During his speech, Minerva’s fears and doubts disappeared, leaving only excitement – and pride that Professor Dumbledore believed in her.

Albus beamed at her. “Wonderful! I have some books for you to read over the summer, and a few exercises for you to do – they do not require a wand, so they are perfectly acceptable to practice. I do want you to promise only to do the exercises that I prescribe, and none others of which you may read. If you truly wish to try a different technique, please owl me, and do not attempt anything before you hear back from me. I may be gone for a good bit of the summer, but I promise that if you have a question, I will respond as soon as I am practically able. I do not want to find it necessary to visit you in St. Mungo’s!”

“Of course, sir! And I will try not to bother you during the holiday – I know it will not be very much of a holiday for you.”

“You would not be a bother, Minerva, and it would be nice to have a friendly letter waiting for me on return from my trips. Besides, I will actually be at Hogwarts for a few weeks at the end of July and the beginning of August, and although I will be occupied with school business during that time, I would welcome correspondence from you.”

“All right, sir! Do you have any recommendations for what I should read first?”

“Fundamentals of Animal Transfiguration would be the one to begin with, although I know you have read it already, probably more than once. But now you will read it with an eye toward becoming an Animagus. You may also read Taming the Mind, Finding the Beast, but bear in mind that it is non-standard and Virgil Vortmun was rather an eccentric. I do not suggest that you try his methods! This book, however,” Albus said, pulling one from the pile that he had taken from the shelf behind him, “this book you will likely wish to read and re-read throughout your project.”

Albus handed her The Emergent Creature: Focussing the Human Mind to Evoke the Latent Animal Within.

Minerva glanced at the cover, then flipped to the front of the book. She giggled, then put her hand over her mouth.

“Something amusing, Miss McGonagall?” asked Albus, quirking an eyebrow.

“Um, sir, would you happen to be acquainted with the author?” Minerva asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, we are acquaintances of a sort. Although that is not why I believe you will find the book valuable.” Albus grinned. “Why do you ask?”

“Hmm, the name is just a bit familiar, that’s all, sir. ‘Apiarus B. White,’ sir?”

“Yes, well, I suppose it is a bit transparent, but at the time I thought it clever. I was young.” Albus said with a shrug and a smile.

Minerva smiled and replaced it on the stack. There were about a half dozen books there, and Minerva was itching to read them.

“And the exercises you want me to practice? Are they in these books?”

“There are variations on them in Emergent Creature and Occlumency: From Clearing to Clouding, but I want you to do the specific exercises that I have written out for you.”

As Albus reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a sheaf of parchments, Minerva was struck by something he’d said. “Occlumency, sir? I thought I was learning to be an Animagus.”

“The preparatory work to becoming an Animagus shares similarities with some of that required to become a true Occlumens, which goes beyond merely closing one’s mind,” Albus replied. “I think you will understand better how they are related after you have studied the other books.”

“I can hardly wait to begin, Professor!”

“I have one other project that I want to discuss with you. I wish to make clear that your Animagus training will not hinge on whether or not you agree to the second project, although I could only present the second one after you had agreed to the first.”

“You are confusing me, Professor. What do you mean?”

“I will not go into details right now; they can wait. I hope that the little I have said does not torment your curiosity too badly, Minerva. I only raise this issue now in order to emphasise the potential importance of the studying you will do this summer. One cannot force the Animagus process – not without ending up in St. Mungo’s – however, one can speed it up. By diligently reading and practising the exercises, you can create the proper conditions for achieving your Animagus transformation in as short a time as possible. Please be assured, my dear, that I will not ask you to do anything that will bring you into danger. I do not want you to try to transform too soon and cause yourself any injury. Do you understand?”

“I think so; at least, as much as I can without your telling me more about this secret project. Why not tell me now, Professor?”

“Two reasons. The first is that, although I do want you to study diligently, I do not want you to feel any overblown sense of urgency about it. Truly, Minerva, although the project with which I would like your help is somewhat pressing, it has waited a long time to be addressed, and it can wait some time longer. The second is that I promised Headmaster Dippet that I would not reveal the nature of the second project to you until it became clearer that you are likely to achieve an Animagus form.”

“Headmaster Dippet? What has he to do with this?” Minerva felt slightly rude as she asked the question, but Professor Dumbledore had always spoken openly with her and encouraged her to ask questions.

“Ah, in a way, although it is my project, it is also Headmaster Dippet’s, although it is unlikely that he will be involved in it. Therefore, I discussed it with him before presenting it to you. I also think that it is wise to wait since, although I have every faith that you are capable of becoming an Animagus, in the event that it takes a longer time than we hope or you do not achieve it, I do not wish you to feel burdened by the prospect of abandoning the other project. If you are diligent, we should have a better indication of your Animagus ability by the end of the summer.”

“How long do you think it will take, Professor?” Minerva asked, already feeling pressure, despite not knowing what the not-urgent-but-pressing second project was.

“I do not know. Most who are successful take two or three years to accomplish the complete Animagus transformation, if they have a competent teacher. Without one, it is unlikely to be achieved in under three or four years, if at all.”

“Three years!” exclaimed Minerva. She was sure that she had read something of the sort before, but hearing it now, in this context, seemed daunting.

“Hmm, do you not believe me to be a competent teacher, Miss McGonagall?” Albus asked with an impish grin.

“Oh, no, sir, not at all! You are better than competent!” It may have sounded like weak praise, but Minerva blushed internally at the thought of telling him that he was the best teacher anyone could ever have. She would sound like a three-year old, she thought.

Albus laughed loudly at Minerva’s declaration, and she smiled. “Well, my dear, since I am a better-than-competent teacher and you are a better-than-competent student, we just may accomplish it in a better-than-competent time. Let’s see if we can – no rushing! Just diligence!”

Minerva dutifully studied her Animagus-project texts over the summer. She practised her exercises every morning and evening, and a few in-between times, as well. When her OWL scores arrived in the post, Minerva ran her finger along them, making sure she had done well enough to take the courses she’d decided on. She scoffed at the foolishness of Divination, wondered whether she really needed to take Potions just because everyone else in her family had, put the parchment with her scores on her mother’s desk, then retreated to her bedroom to study.